Fire Emblem Redemption Book IV - Awakened Rage of the Dire
by Astral Miracle
Summary: In his final, retributive act, Tantalus has unleashed an ancient horror upon the troubled world of Tellius. The secretive Redeemers continue scheming from the shadows, sowing discord and ruin in their wake. With a staunch ally and loyal friend buried behind her, Morgan struggles to find a place for her and her friends amidst the growing chaos.
1. Disclaimer

**Disclaimer**

* * *

I do not own Fire Emblem, I do not own Intelligent Systems, and I do not own any of the characters / settings from Fire Emblem. I've rated this story T for themes of war, including both violence and murder, alcohol use, potentially minor sexual references (nothing exceeding what already exists in Fire Emblem: Awakening), and potentially themes of character death.

There will be spoilers for Fire Emblem: Awakening, Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance, and Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn.


	2. Prologue

**~ Prologue ~**

 _"What is it, Leanne?"_

 _The beautiful, blond heron looked agitated, and when she spoke, her words were hurriedly spoken and poorly enunciated. Not that it really mattered._

 _Tibarn rolled his eyes. "You know I don't speak the ancient tongue," he huffed impatiently. As he spoke, he shook his head, trying to dislodge some of the sweat beading along his dark hair. Despite his baggy, thin clothing, the musty air hung around him in a suffocating manner._

 _"Naesala… in… danger…" Leanne managed. Even after centuries, she still remained uncomfortable with the language that had become common across Tellius._

 _"Yes, I am aware of that, thank you. We all are, if you haven't noticed. And when we reunite with our dear strategist, we can remind him together that neither of us really speaks the other's language," Tibarn groaned. Impatiently, he kicked at a nearby crate. There were several crates just like it, laying against the wall of the dark cavern tunnel. A long rope soaked in oil had been strung through each of the crates, and had been stretched out nearly fifty paces. "You know, I don't trust this stuff. It's like Beorc weapons and magic, only it's somewhere in between. Not really magic, but it might as well be. I still don't know what Naesala was thinking. His plan will probably only blow up in our faces."_

 _Frustrated, Leanne shook her head violently, and spouted several more incomprehensible complaints._

 _"Glad to see we agree," Tibarn said absently. "Could that damn raven work any slower? We're going to die of old age waiting for that signal of his. That is, assuming the giant freak-of-nature doesn't kill us all first!"_

 _Apparently, Tibarn and Leanne didn't share as great of an understanding as the hawk king believed. Angrily, the heron woman gave him a rough shove. "What was that for!?" Tibarn grouched. This time, Leanne didn't bother replying, and she set off down the tunnel, her white-feathered wings beating frantically. "Hey, wait! Where are you going?" Tibarn protested. "We're supposed to stay here, remember?"_

 _Leanne ignored him. Left with no choice, Tibarn followed, streaming complaints as he went. "Come on, Leanne! Don't be this way. I know you understood Naesala's instructions. He even translated them for you! I was listening, remember? I know it doesn't sound like a great plan, but it's all we've got left. Let's not make a mess of this one too. Please? You're not even listening to me anymore, are you?"_

 _And indeed, she wasn't. Leanne had seen through her husband's ploy at last, and could only pray that she had recognized the clever raven's deception before it was too late._

 _A loud ringing noise echoed loudly along the dark cavern tunnels. "The signal!" Tibarn groaned. "Leanne! What are we doing!? We have work to do!"_

 _But Leanne didn't slow, and in fact, only sped up, her panic growing as the sound of the bell Naesala had slammed into the wall continued to echo violently._

* * *

 _Laguz eyes were sharper than most, and even in the near-absolute darkness, Naesala, the former raven king, could clearly see his deadly adversary's silhouette rising to its full height, illuminated only by sinister, fiery golden eyes._

 _Many would have been simply petrified at the sight of the dire eidolon, one of the deadliest forces known to Tellius, standing before them. But Naesala only tossed his head back and laughed._

 _"WRETCHED CROW!" Extinction roared in a gravelly, powerful voice. A sphere of crackling, golden energy burst forward, but it was too slow to catch the agile raven._

 _"You are hardly the first to call me that," Naesala said, smiling. "Though you may very well be the last. Savor that minor victory, if you'd like."_

 _"SUFFER! BURN! DIE!" the eidolon roared, leaping forward and bringing both vicious claws downwards in a vicious strike, hoping to crush the impudent Laguz. He missed quite badly, striking only the ground, but the force sent powerful reverberations through the tunnels, dislodging a few stone spires from the ceiling._

 _"My, aren't you an eloquent one?" Naesala replied dryly, as he soared back several steps. "I suppose we could play a little bit longer. But if you keep this up, the Daein explosives won't even be necessary." His giddy expression faded a second later, as the telltale beat of wings alerted him to the fact that his carefully-conceived plan had been derailed._

 _As he turned, Leanne slammed into him, wrapping him into a tight hug and sobbing uncontrollably._

 _Tibarn flew up behind Leanne, and had evidently overheard Naesala's last taunt. "Really? Good. Because thanks to a certain crazy heron lady, your oil-soaked ropes are still lying there uselessly," he said, glowering at Leanne._

 _"King Phoenicis! What is going on here!?" Naesala hissed._

 _"That's my question! I'm not the one who speaks Leanne-ease, in case you've forgotten!" Tibarn fired back._

 _A violent, earsplitting roar interrupted their conversation. Abruptly, Naesala darted to the side, pulling Leanne with him. Another sphere of the same cursed, golden light rushed through the air where Leanne had been hovering a mere second earlier. "This way!" Naesala demanded, holding onto his wife's hand tightly as he led her and his king down a narrow side tunnel._

 _The skeletal, wolf-like creature tried to follow, only to find that the tunnel narrowed near the end. With a defiant growl, the beast began slamming his tail violently against the narrow entryway._

 _"Somehow, I'm not surprised that he'd sooner smash his way through than look for a way around. Reminds me a bit of old Skirmir," Naesala remarked coolly. "Your Majesty, Leanne… we don't have much time. Fly along this tunnel, go straight at the first fork, and take a left at the second. That will lead you back up to where we left the Daein explosives. I'll lead the beast deeper into the caves."_

 _Before Tibarn could acknowledge Naesala's instructions, Leanne cut him off, speaking to her husband in in the ancient tongue. Though the hawk king could not comprehend her words, there was no mistaking her anger. "What did she say?" Tibarn demanded._

 _Naesala ignored him, though, and only whispered a few short words in the same, mysterious language. Leanne's expression softened, and she stared at her husband pleadingly._

 _"King Phoenicis, you two have to leave. Right now," Naesala said levelly. "We don't have much time left. I need you to escort Leanne from his miserable place, and light the fuse on the way out."_

 _As if to confirm the raven's words, there was golden flash of light as the beast vented its fury upon the narrow crevice, and cracks began to spread._

 _"Go, now!" Naesala cried. "I'll buy you as much time as I can._

 _"Alright," Tibarn agreed, watching uneasily as pebbles and sand poured down from the cracks. "What about you? Where's that tome that you borrowed?"_

 _"Oh, that?" Naesala chuckled grimly. "I tossed it the moment you two were out of sight. It was only a prop; an empty tome discarded carelessly on the battlefield when its power was fully expended."_

 _"What!?" Tibarn exclaimed. "But you said you were going to use it to ensnare this monstrosity!"_

 _Naesala groaned. "Really, Tibarn?" he asked incredulously, dropping his friend's formal title. "You still believe the yarn I spun for you about how I had been studying Beorc magic?"_

 _Tibarn stared at him, not quite understanding at first. "What are you saying!?" Tibarn demanded angrily, when Naesala didn't offer any further explanation on his own._

 _"I'm saying that I lied to you. Again," Naesala admitted with a slight smirk. "Look… we don't have time for an argument right now. You can yell at me as long as you'd like, once you're free of this place."_

 _"You came down here to die," Tibarn realized at last. "You knew there was no way we could defeat the eidolon, so you meant to fight it alone and buy us enough time to seal off the tunnels and escape." Tibarn glanced at Leanne, finally understanding her fear._

 _"Yes, yes. Let's not belabor the obvious. It's time, Tibarn. Take Leanne and get out of this place before anyone else has to die at the talons of this wretched creature," Naesala instructed, keeping his tone nonchalant._

 _"You idiot!" Tibarn roared. "What kind of plan is this? Don't you realize how many of our people have already died today!?"_

 _"Don't you realize how many more will die if we fail here?" Naesala shot back with equal intensity. "Stop arguing and get out of here, now! Set off the explosives and seal off these tunnels, then tell our allies what happened! By the time the eidolon makes its way free of this prison, you'll have all of Tellius waiting to destroy the beast. Now go!"_

 _"Then let me stay, and you set off the explosives!" Tibarn argued._

 _"No! You're the king, in case you've forgotten!" Naesala reminded angrily._

 _"Yes! I am the king! You would ask me to run from a fight, sending a subordinate to die on my behalf?" Tibarn demanded._

 _"I would ask you to do your job, you royal idiot!" Naesala said furiously. "Now take Leanne and go!"_

 _There was a loud rumbling, and the cracks widened. A single, burning eye could be seen shining out from within the crevice, as the eidolon methodically crushed the natural stone barrier to dust._

 _Tibarn glanced at Leanne helplessly, but she didn't seem to notice, and only hovered, remaining perfectly rigid aside from her beating wings. "There has to be another way, Naesala," Tibarn whispered hoarsely._

 _"Yes, with all the soldiers and resources we have left," Naesala said sarcastically._

 _"But what about Strife and Belle?" Tibarn pleaded._

 _A shadow crossed Naesala's confident eyes, his calm seemed to falter slightly. "They'll understand, one day. Just do me a favor and make sure Strife never ends up as dear Valent's strategist," he said lightheartedly, trying to keep his voice from trembling._

 _A claw reached through the widening crevice, and the vicious talons tore into the crevice's edge. The earth itself seemed to groan in protest as the crack widened._

 _With no arguments left, Tibarn nodded weakly. "Leanne," he called._

 _In answer, Leanne drifted over to her husband, seizing him by the arm tightly._

 _"Go with the king, Leanne. Please," Naesala said, using the common language. When she didn't release him, he gave her a light nudge and repeated his request in the ancient language instead._

 _"Not… leaving…" Leanne replied, struggling with the words._

 _"There's no sense in us both dying here," Naesala said patiently. "Don't be stubborn, Leanne."_

 _Leanne only shook her head and closed her eyes peacefully._

 _With that, Naesala's cool façade broke at last. "Leanne! You can't do this to me!" Naesala cried. "You can't die here!"_

 _Leanne opened her emerald eyes a sliver and narrowed them at her husband angrily, scolding him in her own language._

 _"What are you talking about!? I am not a hypocrite!" Naesala protested._

 _Tibarn, torn between fear, grief, and amusement, laughed weakly. "I'm afraid she's got you there, Naesala."_

 _"Damn it, Tibarn!" Naesala cried. He pleaded with Leanne in the ancient language once more, but his pleas fell on deaf ears._

 _With a loud crash, Extinction forced his way through the crevice at last. Boulders collapsed from above, forcing all three of the Laguz back, but the mighty monstrosity hardly seemed to notice, and swaggered through the rain of debris menacingly._

 _All hope seemed to leave Naesala then, but he nodded in acceptance as he drifted aside slowly, towards the tunnel that led deeper into the mountains. Leanne maintained her grip on his arm and followed, eyeing the beast fearlessly._

 _"Come on, Leanne," Tibarn called in a final, futile effort to spare one more life. When she did not answer, Tibarn met Naesala's gaze one last time._

 _"Farewell, Tibarn."_

* * *

"Tibarn?"

At the sound of his name, Tibarn opened his eyes and sat up straight, facing the speaker. "What is it, King Phoenicis?" he asked calmly.

"Please. You, of all people, have no reason to use my title," Strife replied softly. "Are you alright? Is there anything you need?"

Tibarn shook his head and grinned. Even after three centuries, the young king's striking resemblance to his father was startling. "I'm fine. Don't worry yourself over an old man lost in his memories," Tibarn said. _Regrets_ , he added silently.

Strife frowned. "We still have no word of Valent," he said apologetically. "All we have are the insurgents' repeated insistences that Valent is at the head of their rebellion."

"Which aren't true. You know that, right?" Tibarn said insistently, sounding worried.

"Of course," Strife said, laughing. "If Valent ever gave me any indication that he wanted to be king, I would have abdicated the throne to him in a heartbeat. I still find it hard to believe that there are people who think this metaphorical crown is worth fighting a war over."

"Prestige, great power, and the loyalty of our people accompany that 'crown'," Tibarn said in a miffed tone.

" _Responsibility_ is what accompanies it," Strife corrected. "Prestige and power are borrowed from our people to fulfill that responsibility. And as for loyalty…" he chuckled helplessly at the irony. "Given the turn of events, perhaps it's time I stepped down."

"You can't," Tibarn growled. "Our country needs a king that is fit to rule."

"Or a queen," Strife remarked lightly. "I recall the Nighthawk telling me that she'd be queen one day."

Tibarn laughed, remembering the childish boast. "She was only five at the time, Strife. Five years old, and hoping to impress her best friend. She outgrew any interest in the throne decades ago. Celera doesn't have the patience to become a proper ruler."

"Perhaps," Strife said cautiously. "But I doubt our country would have found itself in such a sordid state under her rule. Her father united our tribes once, and I, apparently, have only managed to divide them once more."

"Her father ruled in a different time," Tibarn reminded. "I ruled through strength alone, and whenever a crisis calling for more than just strength arose, I fell woefully short. And at the very least, you can find it in yourself to be honest regarding your failings. That alone makes you a far better king than I ever was."

"Your mistakes are not entirely irreversible," Strife argued. "If they were even truly mistakes. You could still travel to Daein now and tell Queen Micaiah the truth of the eidolon. Not that it really matters at this point; for all we know, the wretched creature was crushed into oblivion. There's been no sign of him for hundreds of years, and there's no reason for anyone to fault you for keeping silent."

"Then why speak of it now?" Tibarn replied. "It will only bring back terrible memories, especially in such troubled times."

"Our times are always troubled," Strife observed wryly. He let out a long sigh. "I should have listened when the Nighthawk seemed reluctant to lead her patrol away from Phoenicis."

"She was reluctant to leave _you_ , her best friend. Not her home," Tibarn said.

"Maybe, but I haven't heard from her since I sent her to help Nasir with his investigation. I can't even tell her that her brother is missing. There's been no word from Nasir, either, and King Goldoa is still missing, too," Strife said. "What am I going to do?"

"You're going to do what you can to hold our people together," Tibarn said with an unconcerned shrug. "The ravens still stand behind you, as do many of the hawks."

"Isn't that what we're already doing?" Strife asked dryly.

"Exactly, and you're doing quite well, so you should stop whining, less you sound more like a nestling than a king," Tibarn said with a grin.

Strife only sighed again. He knew he was supposed to be the patient one. At least, that's what everyone believed. But he knew better. He was just slightly better at hiding his impatience.

"Strife," a serene voice interrupted.

Strife and Tibarn both turned to see a slender, graceful man with a delicate, slightly feminine face drift into the room, carried by a pair of white feathery wings. The newcomer's long blond hair was combed neatly and flowed down his back, shining lustrously. He drifted up to Strife and handed the young king a platter covered in leafy green vegetables. "You haven't eaten since we first arrived here in Kilvas two nights ago," the heron berated him gently.

"Sorry, Uncle Reyson. I haven't much time to think about food," Strife said gratefully.

Reyson nodded and smiled, conceding the point. "You've been busy, but you have plenty of time now," he said. He then turned to Tibarn and offered the old hawk a similar platter.

Tibarn only stared at him incredulously.

"You need to eat, too," Reyson scolded, when Tibarn made no move for the food.

"I suppose I do, but this hardly constitutes food," Tibarn said, staring at the offered meal suspiciously, as if he expected it to sprout fangs the moment he looked away.

Reyson sighed. "Even if I haven't managed to persuade you to give up meat entirely, I'm not hunting on your behalf."

Tibarn groaned and accepted the plate. But instead of eating the offered vegetables, he merely poked at them idly. "So this is what I've become. A vegetarian hawk," he grumbled discontentedly. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

* * *

Morgan kept her eyes tightly shut, listening closely as the familiar whisper of steel slicing cleanly through the air resonated gently around the small meadow. She held her breath as she swung the weapon through the air a second time, and then a third, trying to familiarize herself with the weapon's balance.

"You know, training usually works better with your eyes open."

Startled, Morgan opened her eyes and spun around. As she did, she tripped and nearly tumbled to the floor, catching herself only just in time. Alondite fell from her grip, and she hastily reached down to reclaim it.

"It also works better with your sword in hand," Severa added mischievously.

Nervously, Morgan glanced at a nearby tree. To her relief, Soren, who was sitting in the shade with a book in hand, didn't seem to be paying the two sisters any attention. At least there was a chance that he hadn't noticed her little slip. "Hello, Sis," Morgan said cheerfully, deciding that there was no sense in worrying about it now.

Severa's expression quickly became one of sympathy as she eyed Morgan's new weapon. Alondite was a fine weapon. In truth, it was a far finer weapon than Eternity had been. But even though Morgan couldn't remember inheriting her father's sword, Severa knew that the silver sword had still held plenty of sentimental value. "Still trying to get used to the balance, huh?" Severa asked rhetorically. "You know, maybe you don't have to worry about it. Mom promised she'd help you fix your sword, remember? I bet it won't take long at all, once we're home."

"Probably not," Morgan agreed quickly. "But I need a weapon for now, just in case. And this is a pretty nice sword." She spoke casually, trying to hide her discomfort, but Severa saw through it easily enough.

To her credit, she said nothing more on the subject, and only stepped in close, embracing Morgan gently.

"Severa!?" Morgan cried, startled, as she carefully moved her sword aside.

"Don't worry, Morgan. We'll sort this all out," Severa promised, smiling as she stepped away.

Morgan looked at her blankly for a moment, before breaking into a smile of her own. "Are you feeling alright, Severa?" she asked teasingly.

Severa blushed. "I'm fine. And I'd like to _stay_ fine, so please don't do anything else stupid for a while. Okay?"

"Okay," Morgan promised easily.

"Dad says we're leaving in an hour. Don't spend _too_ long practicing how not to drop your new sword," Severa called, as she strode purposefully away.

Morgan smiled wistfully as she watched Severa depart. Given everything that had changed, it was nice to see that some things stayed the same, at least. If only she could leave this mess behind, too, return to her life of lazy afternoons in Ylisstol. "Once this is over," Morgan reminded herself sharply, shaking the lethargy away as she carefully lifted her sword once more.

She closed her eyes purposefully and hefted the blade once more.

"Your sister isn't particularly good at voicing her feelings, is she?"

This time, though she flinched again, she kept a tight hold on Alondite's hilt. "She's not the only one," Morgan replied smarmily, after processing the words.

"Oh, really? Runs in the family, does it?" Soren asked distractedly. Morgan looked over in his direction and saw that he still seemed engrossed in his book. But she knew better, and saw through his disguise for what it was.

"Actually, I was thinking of someone else who never seems to be willing to share what's on his mind," Morgan said, smiling slyly. "I even asked him three times earlier if he minded me training in this meadow, only he pretended he couldn't hear me."

"You asked whether I had any objections. I did not," Soren said, sounding bored. "What do you think of your new sword?"

Morgan hesitated for a moment before answering. "It's a nice weapon," she finally admitted. "But… I don't know. I don't want to grow too comfortable with it, either."

"Why not? It's yours to keep. Unless you accidentally cut off a hand, you can't do much worse than abandoning it unattended in the Tower of Guidance like we did," Soren remarked.

"I'm _not_ going to cut off a hand," Morgan replied, irritated. "At least not my own." Her annoyance faded as she regarded the beautiful weapon carefully. "Still… I miss my own sword," she added quietly.

"Learn to use both together, then," Soren said indifferently. "You're a tactician, Morgan. One of the few who might just be clever enough to use two long blades at once without tangling herself up. Maybe."

Morgan scowled at Soren distastefully, clearly not appreciating the qualifier Soren had added. "What do you know about swordplay, anyways?" Morgan demanded defensively.

"Why do you assume I know nothing?" Soren replied, answering her question with one of his own. "I've had five centuries to learn, haven't I?"

"Wait, you know how to use a sword?" Morgan asked, astonished. Forgetting her annoyance, she eagerly raced to the nearby pile of training equipment and selecting a wooden, sword-shaped pole. "Catch!"

Soren reached up, reflexively catching the wooden weapon. He then set it down at his side without looking at it, returning to his book.

"You hold the shorter, rounded end," Morgan offered helpfully, unable to keep the hopeful tone out of her voice.

"Really? I had no idea," Soren replied, feigning surprise. He then sighed deeply. "It's been over eighty years since I've last used a sword, Morgan."

"Which means you have some catching up to do, right?" Morgan said cheerfully. "Come on, Soren. It'll be fun."

"No thank you. I'm reading, in case you haven't noticed," Soren said.

"Not anymore you aren't," Morgan said, reaching over as she spoke and brandishing a wooden sword of her own. When Soren didn't react, she swept it downward, tapping him lightly atop the head. Soren looked up, an expression of disbelief plain on his face. "See?" Morgan teased, smiling.

Morgan half-expected Soren to turn away, but instead, Soren marched over to the pile of training equipment himself, ignoring the blade Morgan had offered him. He emerged from the pile wielding a much smaller training pole, barely longer than a dagger. He twirled the diminutive training weapon a few times before allowing it to settle into a comfortable grip.

Morgan couldn't help but smile at the sight, for she had never expected to see Soren wielding a weapon aside from a tome, or maybe a staff.

Her smile faded almost instantly as Soren lunged forward without warning, launching his weapon into a devastating, carefully measured thrust. Even with her longer blade, Morgan only barely managed to bring her weapon across in an appropriate parry.

Soren had already retracted his weapon though, and her counter found only air as Soren lined up a second, and then a third thrust. Each time, Morgan had only just enough time to react.

But when Soren committed fully to the third thrust and the two blades met for the first time, Morgan noticed that there really wasn't much force behind the blow.

Morgan soon settled into a comfortable rhythm, and the two tacticians continued their dance for some time. Again and again, Soren attacked swiftly with incredible precision, but Morgan turned each blow aside with relative ease until she found openings for her own attacks. Seemingly cognizant of his own lack of strength, Soren didn't even attempt to deflect Morgan's carefully measured swings, and simply sidestepped them to press his attack from new angles and keep his opponent on the defensive.

Then, as abruptly as it had begun, Soren's relentless assault ground to a complete halt. "Good," he said calmly.

"Good?" Morgan echoed hollowly.

"You are a quick thinker in battle," Soren said impassively. "Once you were certain that your physical strength exceeded mine, you pressed your advantage vigorously. You handle your weapon quite well, and you're equally quick to adapt."

"Really?" Morgan asked, feeling flattered despite Soren's emotionless tone.

In answer, Soren scooped up the longer wooden sword he had declined earlier. "Try using both," he instructed, passing the training pole to her.

Morgan caught the second training sword easily in her left hand, but she looked at it doubtfully; she had practiced wielding a sword in her left hand before, and the weapon felt comfortably familiar in her grip, but wielding two weapons simultaneously still felt awkward.

Not wanting to disappoint the older tactician, she pushed her discomfort aside, readying both weapons and settling into a stance that felt somewhat even. She nodded, signaling for Soren to attack once more.

The older tactician obliged, and Morgan whipped both blades forward as Soren closed in. After only a few quick exchanges, Morgan felt a painful rap against her forehead.

"Ouch!" Morgan protested, and Soren quickly stepped back, his expression insufferably blank. "You don't have to hit me _that_ hard!" Morgan fumed.

"You hit yourself," Soren replied, and to Morgan's surprise, Soren's lips seemed to quirk slightly around the edges as he spoke.

"I did?" Morgan asked, startled.

Soren apparently didn't see a need to repeat himself. "You're overthinking this, Morgan. Don't get fancy with your movements. Your two weapons allow for a wider range of motion. I know you can keep track of both of your weapons simultaneously. Just focus," he instructed calmly.

"Easy for you to say," Morgan grumbled. Then an idea came to her, and she smiled. "I know! You should distract me!"

"Isn't being distracted the opposite of focusing?" Soren asked wryly.

"Yeah, but you said I was overthinking things," Morgan insisted. "Tell me a story while we spar."

"I'm not a bard," Soren said flatly.

"The stories bards tell are pretty boring, anyways," Morgan said, undeterred. "Tell me more about your old friends. Like Nestor."

"Just focus on your weapons," Soren said with a sigh, as he lifted his training sword once more.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Morgan lowered her weapons and growled in frustration. She was covered in minor bruises, all self-inflicted, and she had yet to come even close to landing a blow on her elusive foe. "I can't do this," she admitted.

"I hadn't marked you as the type to give up," Soren said, showing little sympathy. Morgan stuck her tongue out at him childishly, but the older tactician did little more than roll his eyes. "Morgan, you know me better than to think that I would waste my time trying to teach you if I didn't truly believe you were capable."

Morgan sighed. "I know, I know," she said in a resigned tone.

"Good. Now concentrate." Soren now held two training blades himself, and lifted them once more. When Morgan didn't lift her own weapons, and instead adopted a thoughtful look, Soren lowered his weapons once more, raising an eyebrow. "What is it?" Soren asked, sounding genuinely concerned. Not for Morgan, but for himself. By now, he was quite familiar with Morgan's well-rehearsed look of thoughtful innocence.

Morgan smiled mischievously, an expression that did little in putting Soren at ease. "Soren, was Nestor a swordsman, too? Did you ever try to teach him how to use two swords at once, too?"

"Maybe," Soren said cautiously. "Why?"

"You should tell me more about him," Morgan suggested, trying hard not to sound too eager. "Maybe that would help."

Seeing through her little deception, Soren dropped his dagger-shaped training pole and groaned, hiding his face in his hands. "I don't believe this," he said flatly. "No wonder you haven't made any progress. You've been holding back this entire time, haven't you? Is this really all to try to squeeze an old story out of me?"

"Umm… maybe?" Morgan said sheepishly.

"You're like a child begging her parents for a story at night," Soren scolded, shaking his head.

At his words, Severa burst out laughing. Morgan jumped in surprise, for she hadn't noticed her sister returning. "That's Morgan, alright," Severa agreed.

"I've been wondering how long you were planning to hold your silence," Soren said wryly.

"I've been wondering how long it would take for the two of you to notice me," Severa retorted.

Soren sighed. "I saw you returning. You moved my book aside as you did. Not very gently, either. I expect Morgan would have noticed you, too, if she wasn't so busy making a calculated mockery of her training session," he added, glaring at the younger woman angrily.

"You should probably just tell her what she wants to know," Severa suggested as she hopped to her feet and retrieved Soren's book, closing it gently and placing it evenly atop one of the tree's exposed roots. "You said it yourself; she's not really the type to give up."

"Well… at least I'm persistent?" Morgan said, blushing slightly.

With another sigh, Soren threw his training pole aside. "Let me know if you ever want to train for real," he said, sounding annoyed, as he sat down beneath the tree once more.

"Alright," Morgan said with a cheerful nod, as she seated herself a few paces away. She glanced at Soren expectantly. Soren didn't look up at her, nor did he retrieve his book, and only stared down into his lap for several moments. "Well?" Morgan asked impatiently, even as she wondered if perhaps she was pushing Soren a bit too far.

To her surprise, Soren relented yet again. His expression softened as he stared absentmindedly into the distance. "Ylisse was not kind to Ike's descendants," Soren began quietly. "Ike himself enjoyed a long, healthy life, but most of his bloodline was not so fortunate."

Curiosity got the better of Severa, and she sat down silently beside Morgan. Soren paused patiently, saying nothing more until Severa was comfortably seated, too.

"A virulent plague found its way to Azure Pyre before Nestor was born. It claimed his grandmother and father, and his mother survived only long enough to bring him into this world and give him his name," Soren continued. "I ended up raising him myself. In some ways, he had far more in common with Ike than his father, grandmother, or great-grandfather. As he grew older, he developed a righteous, noble streak, and would often put himself in harm's way for the sake of others, even those who were undeserving. He was determined to always see the best in people. He was a remarkably skilled swordsman as well. I tried to instruct Nestor personally, but it didn't take long for him to surpass my limited skills."

"Limited?" Morgan muttered disbelievingly. Soren wasn't very strong, physically. But despite his claims of it being more then eighty years since he had last wielded a sword, Soren's skill with the supposedly unfamiliar weapon was remarkable.

Soren didn't reply, and instead went on with his story. "But Nestor was also quite different from Ike in some ways. As a child, he was incredibly precocious, and his thirst for knowledge only grew over time. I taught him strategy and tactics, and for the first time, I met someone who could rival my talents in that field. He even mastered the basics of magic without much trouble. He could have become an extremely powerful mage had he chosen such a route, but in the end, the allure of Ragnell was too great. He chose to live by the blade instead." A wistful look found its way onto Soren's normally stony face as he spoke.

Morgan frowned at the curious choice of words. It reminded her of an old saying: those who live by the blade, die by the blade. She couldn't help but think that Soren chose his description purposefully.

"When he reached adulthood, the two of us set out from Azure Pyre together," Soren continued. If he had noticed Morgan's expression, he ignored it. "The plague had finally subsided. Nestor proved to be an inspiring presence, and following his lead, many of Azure Pyre's youths developed into formidable warriors, more than capable of defending Azure Pyre in our absence. Nestor knew he was no longer needed there. He invited me to accompany him, and together, we visited nearly every corner of Ylisse. Ylisstol and Ylisse's many provinces, Ferox's famed arenas and bitter, northern wilderness, and the harsh lands of Plegia in the west."

"You've been to Ferox and Plegia?" Morgan asked, surprised.

Soren nodded. "Centuries ago, and from what I have heard, they have both changed significantly since then. Nestor and I roamed across the continent for many long years, until Nestor met and fell in love with a young woman in Ylisstol. After that, he decided it was time for him to return to Azure Pyre."

"That must have been disappointing," Severa commented.

"Not really," Soren said, shaking his head. "Nestor was comfortable on the road, living the life of a nomad, but throughout our travels, he was never quite as happy as he was when he met the woman who would become his wife. I was happy for him, and did not object to returning to Azure Pyre."

Soren's expression darkened slightly. "I wish the story ended there, with him and his family living out their lives peacefully and joyously in Azure Pyre. But as I said before, Ylisse was not kind to Ike's descendants. In the many years we were absent, Azure Pyre changed. The champions that had been entrusted with the village's safety had grown older and their strength had diminished. The generation that followed never quite reached the same heights, and the stories of the Radiant Hero had begun to fade into legend. Nestor himself became the cornerstone of Azure Pyre, for while the plague never returned, the village's other troubles did."

"Bandits?" Severa guessed, knowing well the troubles that smaller villages faced.

"We could have left," Soren said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I, Nestor and his family, and any who would accompany us. We could have departed for Ylisstol, or for any of the other larger civilizations. But Nestor wasn't willing to give in so easily. For decades, we kept the village safe. But while you can win a hundred battles, even a _thousand_ battles, you can only ever lose one."

"Nestor fell defending Azure Pyre," Morgan whispered. As she spoke, she could imagine Soren's old friend, a fierce warrior like Priam. Fighting on even as the decades took their toll on him, until at last, he could fight on no longer.

"Yes," Soren said, in a deadpan tone. "I was there when he fell. He seemed content, satisfied with the life he had lived. He died fighting for his home, his friends, and his people. His children and his grandchildren."

"Grandchildren?" Morgan echoed, before realizing that Nestor's children must have had children of their own. Priam would never have existed, otherwise.

Soren nodded. Silently, the old tactician closed his eyes and leaned back against the tree peacefully.

A terrible thought occurred to Morgan, then. Nestor may have been content in the end he had found, but he had been forced to leave his old friend and mentor behind. But even if Nestor had survived, and had escaped the battle alive, there was no escaping time. How many more years could Nestor have had? Twenty? Thirty?

Would it really have made a difference to Soren, who had since seen the birth and death of century after century?

Morgan glanced at Severa uneasily. Just as Soren had done earlier, Severa stared absentmindedly at nothing in particular, and Morgan could tell that her sister was entertaining similar thoughts.

"Satisfied?" Soren asked. His eyes remained peacefully shut.

"Yes," Morgan said softly.

"Let me guess," Soren said. "You regret asking about him now, don't you?"

Morgan shook her head immediately, before realizing that Soren couldn't see her. "Of course not," she said.

"Why does it matter to you?" Soren asked curiously, opening his eyes at last.

"I'm not sure," Morgan admitted. "I guess… it just felt kind of strange that I knew almost nothing about you, even though we've been traveling together for months."

"It sounds like you were asking for stories about the wrong person, then," Soren said wryly.

"You don't seem like the type who'd want to tell his own stories," Severa observed.

"Probably not," Soren agreed. "But that's simply because my life isn't quite as exciting as you two seem to think."

Morgan could tell from his tone that he was lying, and that Soren had other reasons for keeping his past to himself, but she didn't press the matter. "Thank you, Soren," she said instead.

"For what?" Soren asked, surprised.

"For telling me about Nestor," Morgan said. "And for not getting mad at me for messing around during our training earlier," she added nervously.

Soren shook his head. "I should be thanking the two of you instead," he said. "In many ways, Nestor was every bit the hero that his great-great-grandfather was, but until now, I was the only one left who even remembered his story. That's the way it is with history. Good people who lead fulfilling lives are often forgotten in favor of greatness."

"Did it make you feel better to talk about it, then?" Morgan asked curiously.

"Maybe a little," Soren conceded.

"Then maybe you can tell me about Eirene next time," Morgan suggested hopefully.

"Or maybe next time you ask me for help, you could take your training a little bit more seriously," Soren said, shooting Morgan a hard stare.

"How about now?" Morgan asked, as she hopped to her feet and retrieved her weapons.

"Nope," Severa interrupted. "We have to get everything packed up."

Morgan stared at her older sister blankly for a few seconds, before she remembered. "Oh, gods. We're supposed to be packing, aren't we? If we don't hurry, we'll get left behind!" she said, panicking, as she scrambled to gather all of the training equipment she had brought out to the meadow.

"Relax," Severa said, rolling her eyes. "You'll be lucky if Mom lets you out of her sight for more than a few hours, after the stunt you pulled in coming here to Tellius. You're not going to get left behind."

That calmed Morgan somewhat, though she still collected her belongings with unnatural haste, not wanting to be the one responsible for slowing their march.


	3. Part One: Flutter of a Butterfly

**~ Part One ~**

 **Flutter of a Butterfly**

 _I'm sorry, Priam._

 _I wish he could hear me. Since we left the forest, I whisper those same three words aloud every morning, hoping that the words may reach him. And every time, they sound as empty as they did the morning before._

 _I know better than to blame myself for his death._

 _Yes, it was my search that brought him to this distant land, and yes, I could have chosen to steer clear of Tellius's plight. I could have followed him and Soren into the tunnels. I could have run to King Goldoa's aid sooner, and maybe then I could have intervened before it was too late. I could have done a great many things differently, and who knows what the outcome would have been then?_

 _But to blame myself for Priam's death would be nothing short of arrogance. There were so many decisions made, small and large, and so many people involved. The outcome is simply what it is._

 _I remember reading a book once, written by a Plegian philosopher. He claimed that events were rarely as straightforward as cause-and-effect, and that every happening was governed by countless, seemingly insignificant details. He claimed that the direction of a storm, for instance, could have been entirely different if even a tiny butterfly were to have flapped its wings a little differently._

 _It sounded like an exaggeration at the time, but I think I know what he meant now. What if Owain had never set off alone? If he had stayed home, or if he hadn't gotten so thoroughly lost, I might never have found a reason to come here at all. Or what if Soren had led us to any other port than the one where we met Tantalus?_

 _There are so many what ifs, and none of them really matter. The only people who can be blamed for Priam's death are his killers._

 _I know this, but I still feel guilty. I still wish I could have done something differently, and wonder if perhaps, I could have saved him. There's so much to the world that I still wish to see, and I know it was the same for him._

 _And I know he wanted to see this adventure through, which is why I can't abandon it now. Even though we've found Owain, and even though we've made a mess of things, I owe it to Priam to finish what we've begun together._

 _To be honest, I don't know how much of a difference I can make. What good is a single swordswoman, tactician, and mage? I guess I did help out King Kurth during our last battle… but he's a_ dragon _. Even if I left him alone, he probably would have reduced the phantoms to scrap metal. I bet Soren probably could have defeated the other phantom without me, too. Reflecting on that battle, I feel insignificant. Small._

 _Small… like a butterfly, perhaps?_

 _Maybe a little butterfly can't push a storm aside by herself. And even when it's over, she can't know for sure if she really made a difference or not._

 _But she can try her best. That can't be worse than doing nothing, and forever regretting the outcome. Right?_


	4. Chapter 1

**~ Chapter 1 ~**

The encampment bustled with life as the Pegasus knights of Begnion's Holy Guard began preparing for departure with practiced ease. Despite the dire matters pressing upon them, Kurth couldn't help but admire the display of military precision. The other members of their company had made their own preparations the night before, but the captain of the Pegasus knights had assured him that her soldiers would be ready to leave on time even if they waited until morning to pack.

As he watched two of the Pegasus knights swiftly collapse and neatly fold their tent in a matter of mere seconds, Kurth knew he had no reason to doubt them. Instead, he could only wonder if they would even have a destination ready for their planned departure. He trudged through the camp wearily, approaching a large tent that had been erected as a temporary meeting room.

"I apologize for my tardiness. We received a rather pressing report from one of our scouts," Kurth apologized, as he entered the room. He frowned as he took note of the others gathered in the room. In the confusion that followed their battle against the Redeemers, he had never found the opportunity to introduce himself formally to their unexpected reinforcements.

"It's alright," a fairly young Beorc man with raven-blue hair reassured him. The man was clearly a warrior of some sort, and a decorated one at that, for he wore a fabulous suit of polished plate armor, and carried a regal looking blade that Kurth found strangely familiar. "We aren't in a hurry… are we?" he asked, turning to the platinum-blond man who Kurth remembered as Severa's surprisingly young father.

Kurth frowned. "Actually, we might be. Though before we dive into more pressing matters, I think a formal introduction is long overdue," he said. "My name is Kurthnaga. I represent the kingdom of Goldoa, home of the dragon Laguz."

He gestured toward their three remaining companions, who had been silent so far. "If you have not been acquainted already, this is Princess Celera of Phoenicis, Ulki, a close friend and advisor to the former king of Phoenicis, and Harmony, a former Redeemer who now works against her former allies."

" _Princess_?" Celera repeated petulantly. "Didn't I give up that title, too, when Valent and I agreed to pass the throne to Strife?"

"That's not how royal titles work," Ulki rumbled quietly.

Kurth glanced at the two Ylisseans, pleading with the two to introduce themselves and steer the conversation back on track.

"My name's Chrom," the blue haired man said. "I'm the current exalt of Ylisse, and Lucina's father. With me is Robin, my friend and tactician."

"And Severa and Morgan's father," Kurth added, smiling. "It sounds like an interesting story, but both Lucina and Severa seemed reluctant to provide us with any details."

"It _is_ quite interesting," Robin confessed. "Maybe a little bit too much so. Perhaps there will be time for it later."

"Right," Kurth agreed with a nod. "After we've discussed the situation at hand, and our destination."

Robin glanced at him curiously. "Destination? I thought we were returning to Begnion," Robin said warily.

"We were, until the scouts returned this morning with some rather unpleasant news," Kurth said with a deep sigh.

"Would this have anything to do with the strange earthquake two nights ago?" Chrom asked nervously, as Harmony, Celera, and Ulki all turned to Kurth questioningly.

"Probably. It seems Tantalus's last ditch effort to free Extinction were successful. Our scouts reported seeing a massive quadruped beast marching to the east, heading straight towards Daein. The beast's appearance is similar to how Extinction is often portrayed in the stories. I believe any differences can be attributed to Tantalus augmenting the eidolon's power," Kurth said heavily.

"Did his flesh resemble a glossy, almost bone-like material?" Harmony asked nervously.

Kurth winced at the accurate description. "His back was covered in a strip of thick, white fur, but yes, underneath that, his flesh appeared to be a glossy black color," he confirmed.

"Then he's the same as Maelstrom," Harmony said. "When Tantalus fed Maelstrom the power of the Entropy Shard, his flesh seemed to transform in the same way. Extinction is probably far stronger now than he was before."

Celera looked at Kurth, clearly horrified. "Even stronger than last time? Daein, Begnion, and Phoenicis together could only barely drive him off before!"

"Daein is much stronger now than it was when Extinction last attacked," Kurth pointed out. "And according to the stories, the last battle against Extinction was poorly coordinated."

"It was," Ulki admitted. "Phoenicis responded late, only setting out after our scouts returned from Serenes. Daein's army was the first to arrive, but they were the weakest of the three in the aftermath of their civil war. By the time Begnion arrived, Queen Micaiah's forces were in tatters, and Prince Lionel himself was on the brink of life and death."

"Speaking of Prince Lionel, shouldn't he be here too?" Celera asked.

"Daein's prince was the first to be informed of Extinction's path," Kurth reassured. "Even now he is preparing to return to his homeland."

"We have a bit of warp powder leftover that he can use," Robin offered. "There wasn't much left after we transported Begnion's Pegasus knights, their steeds, and their equipment north, but what remains is more than enough for us to dispatch a few messengers."

"Thank you," Kurth said, with a grateful nod. "But that still leaves us in a rather dangerous situation. Even with sufficient warning, I don't feel comfortable abandoning Daein to face Extinction alone. We must inform the other kingdoms of Tellius at once. Which brings up another concern – the shadow of Calamity hangs over us still. Incidentally, given the location of Dragonflame Isle, where Calamity was last seen, Crimea, Gallia, and Goldoa are the most likely targets if Calamity begins his own rampage."

"And Phoenicis cannot offer any help against either of the dire eidolons while half of our people are busy trying to overthrow Strife," Celera fumed.

Kurth nodded. "With Phoenicis currently occupied with its own troubles, we will simply have to use what resources we have left to deal with the immediate threats."

"I disagree," Robin interrupted. "I apologize if this sounds presumptuous, but I would argue that Phoenicis is perhaps your most immediate threat."

"And not the giant monsters capable of destroying entire cities?" Chrom asked doubtfully.

Robin shook his head slowly. "Until we learn more about the war in Phoenicis, we can't be certain how much damage it might cause. The toll on Phoenicis could prove to be just as great as any destruction these dire eidolons could cause. To make matters worse, former alliances could quickly come into play as well," he said. "Imagine if the current ruler of Phoenicis…"

" _Rightful_ ruler," Celera corrected.

"Rightful ruler," Robin swiftly agreed, not wanting to be bogged down in details. "Imagine if the ruler of Phoenicis were to ask Begnion for help. Begnion and Phoenicis are on good terms, are they not?"

"They are," Kurth agreed. "But I doubt Begnion's senators would be willing to involve themselves in a civil war blindly."

"If they don't, and if King Phoenicis and his supporters were to win the war, that could strain their political relations with Begnion for years to come," Robin warned. "Or, if Begnion were to defy your prediction and offer their help, not only would Begnion risk sustaining heavy losses in their effort, if King Phoenicis were to be defeated, relations between Begnion and the new Phoenicis would be even shakier, possibly leading directly into another war. And that's just one kingdom. If the war in Phoenicis is not ended quickly, more likely than not, both sides will reach out for as many allies as they can find. Some kingdoms may even be courted by both sides of the war at the same time."

"I think Robin is right," Harmony said quietly. "I know the Redeemers were trying to provoke this war for at least two reasons. They wanted to distract and weaken as many of their potential enemies as possible, and they wanted to create chaos to build power within the Entropy Shard."

"You've mentioned this Entropy Shard a few times now, Harmony. Can you tell us anything more about it?" Kurth asked.

Harmony shook her head helplessly. "I'll tell you everything I know, but it isn't much. The shard is an artifact that Tantalus discovered, capable of harnessing and containing chaotic energies from the world around it. The energy of the shard synergizes well with the spirits, strengthening them. Tantalus and Charon learned to channel the energy of the shard into our phantoms, strengthening them immensely."

"Which means that the longer these impending battles last, the more powerful the Redeemers will become," Kurth said thoughtfully.

"Since your scouts didn't find the shard on Tantalus's remains, yes. Charon probably has the Entropy Shard now," Harmony said.

"This story sounds a bit familiar," Robin said with a frown. "Wasn't there another artifact from Tellius that also responded to the chaos of war?"

"You mean Lehran's…" Kurth began, though the words caught in his throat, and he blanched visibly.

"That's right! Lehran's medallion, also known as the Fire Emblem!" Robin exclaimed. "Actually, it's kind of funny your people call it that, since Ylisse has its own Fire Emblem and it's something completely… King Goldoa? Is something wrong?"

"Harmony, what does the Entropy Shard look like?" Kurth asked slowly, as if fearing the answer.

"A small, round, ornate bronze medallion," Harmony said with a shrug, holding up her hands to approximate its size.

"Lehran's medallion and the Entropy Shard are one and the same," Kurth realized with a grimace. "We left the medallion at the top of the Tower of Guidance after our victory over Ashera. We believed its power to be broken. The Redeemers must have retrieved the medallion at the same time they recovered Alondite and Zelgius's armor. Even if Yune is no longer contained by the medallion, it seems some of its power remains."

"We should have destroyed it when we had a chance," Ulki lamented quietly.

"Well, it's too late to worry about that now," Chrom said. "If these Redeemers get their strength from war, then it's in our best interest to end all of these battles as quickly as possible, right?"

"Right," Robin said. "We do need to warn the rest of Tellius about both Extinction and Calamity, but we have to try to sort out the war in Phoenicis as quickly as possible. Even a temporary truce could work to our favor, giving us some time to straighten out the situation and search for a peaceful, more permanent solution."

Kurth nodded in agreement. "Your reasoning is sound. Prince Lionel will bring word of these developments to Queen Micaiah, and Commander Kara of the Begnion Holy Guard can notify Emperor Yashiro of Begnion. I can send Nasir home to Goldoa, which leaves Crimea, Gallia, and of course, Phoenicis."

"I should return home to Phoenicis," Celera volunteered. "Strife needs all the help he can get right now, especially if Valent is missing, too."

"Yes, but not alone," Kurth said. "At the very least, I should accompany you personally. You need someone who the rebels may be willing to accept as a neutral party, if you are to convince them to stand down peacefully."

"Or we could simply crush them in battle," Celera suggested hopefully.

"And that is the other reason Kurth wishes to accompany us back to Phoenicis," Ulki said with a slight smile. "He's afraid, and with good reason, that you and your father will press Strife into leading your people into all-out war."

"Well, if we could end the war quickly, it would be worth it, wouldn't it?" Celera pointed out.

"But you can't be sure of that," Kurth said, shaking his head. "There are still far too many uncertainties. For all we know, if the war turns against the rebels too quickly, the Redeemers may even take a personal hand and join forces with the rebels openly."

Celera opened her mouth to protest, but closed it quietly a moment later, realizing that she had no good answer to the dragon king's fears.

Kurth turned to Chrom. "Thank you once more for coming to our aid in the valley, and for the guidance you have offered us."

"We were happy to help. And besides, it's Robin you should be thanking. He's the one who figured out how to get us over here. Trust me, you don't want my advice when it comes to strategy and politics," Chrom replied, laughing lightly.

"It was nothing, really," Robin said modestly. "We had business of our own to attend to, and just happened to be in the right place, at the right time."

"Nevertheless, your assistance and counsel has been invaluable," Kurth said gratefully. "Though I imagine your own kingdom needs you just as much as we do, Exalt Chrom. We have no right to impose our troubles upon you any longer, but if the portal you helped Begnion construct remains available to us, after our current situation has been sorted out, perhaps we could remain in contact afterwards."

"Perhaps," Robin agreed. "But I've spoken about the situation here with Morgan. It doesn't sound like she's ready to return home yet."

"It's the same way with Lucina," Chrom said. "My own kingdom is at peace, and in good hands for the time being. My sister has temporarily assumed the throne in my absence."

"In that case, you are welcome to stay as long as you'd…" Kurth began.

"Robin, there is a voice coming from your pack," Ulki interjected.

Everyone fell silent as Robin turned to his traveling bag, startled. He couldn't hear anything himself, but he began fishing through his pack anyways, suspecting that the elderly Laguz's hearing was likely far better than his.

* * *

"I wonder where we're headed now," Morgan said, as she, Severa, and Soren made their way back to the camp. "It looks like the Pegasus knights are almost done clearing the camp away."

"Looks like," Severa agreed. "It's a pity Ylisse's Pegasus knights aren't nearly as organized."

"I think Begnion's Pegasus knights have Cynthia's outnumbered at least ten-to-one," Morgan pointed out. "And this is only a part of their army, too, according to Dad."

"And somehow, while they can properly train hundreds Pegasus knights, Cynthia can't even manage a team of twenty," Severa grumbled.

"Morgan!" Lionel called as he marched over to their side. He was carrying his own traveling bag, and looked as if he was ready to leave.

"Hello, Lionel," Morgan greeted. "Do you know where we're going?"

"I'm headed back to Daein, though I'm not certain what the rest of our plans are," Lionel said. "The scouts reported back this morning – Extinction is free."

"What!?" Morgan gasped.

"Tantalus must have managed to empower Extinction before Charon caught up to him. That's what we're guessing, anyways," Lionel explained. "That earthquake two nights ago must have been Extinction escaping the tunnels. He's heading directly for Daein this time. I'm headed there myself to warn my mother."

"Do you really think Daein's army will be able to stop it alone?" Morgan asked nervously.

"I don't know," Lionel said with a frown. "But we have to prepare for it either way. Kurth is talking it over with the hawks and your father right now, trying to decide what to do next. Incidentally, Kurth thinks you and your friends are probably headed home. Is that true?"

Morgan shook her head immediately. "We're staying, at least until we're sure there's nothing we can help with," she insisted.

"Then we'll probably end up staying here forever," Severa interrupted dryly.

"Probably," Lionel said with a rueful smile. "We could use all the help we can get right now, honestly, but I hope things start looking up sometime soon. Anyways, I was thinking, would you mind lending me your sword?"

"You mean Alondite?" Morgan asked, surprised.

Lionel shook his head. "Not Alondite. Your old sword, the one that was destroyed. I have an old friend in Daein who can repair it for you."

Morgan looked a bit hesitant. "Umm… thanks for offering, but I don't know if it would be quite the same. And besides, Mom says she'll try to fix it for me once she's home."

"Your mother doesn't seem like to the type to leave you and your sister to your troubles alone," Lionel said with a smile. "You're right about the sword. No matter how it's fixed, or who's fixing it, it will probably never be quite the same again. But I'm sure my friend can repair your sword to be at least as good as new, even if it is a bit different," he promised.

Reluctantly, Morgan slid Eternity's sheath from her belt, which still held the many broken fragments of her weapon. "Alright," she agreed, though she sounded uncertain still. "Thanks, Lionel."

"No problem. I'll see you later, then," Lionel said.

"You should wait until their war council is over, at least," Soren interrupted. "Just in case there is anything else Micaiah needs to know."

"Fair enough," Lionel conceded. "Let's go see if they've decided upon anything yet."

* * *

"I left one mirror from the first set in Ylisse with Princess Lissa, and one from the second set with Begnion's general, in case there was an emergency," Robin explained, as he pulled two mirrors forth from his pack.

"Emergency?" Chrom echoed uncertainly.

"Let's hope it's not _actually_ an emergency," Robin said. The first mirror remained cloudy and dormant, and he quickly set it aside before turning his attention to the second mirror. To his surprise, he didn't recognize the slender man with elegant, violet hair whose face appeared in the mirror. "Hello," he greeted cautiously, fearing that perhaps the mirror may have fallen into the wrong hands.

"Salutations. Am I speaking to Robin, the sorcerer who guided Lord Nasir in constructing the portal on the outskirts of Sienne?" the man asked politely.

"That's me," Robin replied. At his words, the stranger's face grew grim. "Is something wrong?" Robin asked nervously, noticing the change in expression. "And did something happen to General Felicia?"

"The Begnion soldiers stationed around the portal were attacked," the stranger explained. "General Felicia was wounded, but she still lives, thankfully. She entrusted this mirror to me."

"Oh! Are you one of her soldiers?" Robin guessed.

Kurth shook his head and tried to silently mouth something to Robin, but the warning had come too late.

The man's lips curled into a slight smile. "Actually, General Felicia reports to me. I am Emperor Yashiro, the current ruler and apostle of Begnion," he explained.

Robin blanched. "I apologize, Emperor, I didn't…"

"It is quite alright," Yashiro replied calmly. "I did not expect you to recognize me."

"Emperor I understand, but Apostle?" Soren asked, startling everyone in the room. Transfixed upon Robin and his conversation, no one had noticed him entering the tent, along with Severa, Morgan, and Lionel. "I recall one of Begnion's senators claiming that Sanaki was never the true apostle, for the title and its associated powers, belonged only to the firstborn child of the former apostle. Shouldn't Queen Micaiah or Prince Lionel be the one to bear that title now?"

"I believe it was Vice-Minister Lekain who said that," Kurth said. "And, to be blunt, he was mistaken. Branded heritage is not quite as straight forward as he thought. Though Sanaki herself was not branded, Emperor Yashiro, her second youngest grandson, was born bearing the brand."

"The apostle is said to be able to hear the voice of the goddess, but neither of us has heard so much as a whisper from her," Lionel added. "Nor has my mother, for that matter."

"The goddess must still be sleeping, else she would have had too much to say to remain silent for so long," Yashiro said, smiling faintly. "But that's a matter for another day. There are pressing concerns which we must…"

"ROBIN!"

The sudden, shrill cry split the air, and everyone in the tent jumped, before pinpointing the source of the voice as the other mirror, which had just come to life.

"ROBIN! ARE YOU THERE!?"

Chrom reached the second mirror first. "Yes, he's here. Please don't shout, Lissa, we can hear you just fine."

"Thank the gods," Lissa said with a sigh. "Chrom, I've been trying to reach you and Robin for hours!"

"One moment, please," Robin said apologetically to Emperor Yashiro, before turning to the other mirror. "Lissa, this isn't really a good time. Is this really important?"

"Umm… yeah! Of course it's important! You said this mirror was only for emergencies!" Lissa protested indignantly.

"Okay, sorry, you're right," Robin backtracked hastily. "What is it, then?" After a moment's thought, he added, "Is this about Morgan?"

"Hey!" Morgan protested, even as Lissa shook her head vigorously.

"A massive golden dragon with a bony head came through your portal!" Lissa said, her voice rising in an unmistakable tone of panic.

"What!?" Chrom exclaimed.

"I'm not making this up!" Lissa fumed. "It used all sorts of crazy magic, and blasted the castle's walls into pieces! We managed to chase it away from the city, but it's just circling Ylisstol now. Frederick led our soldiers out there to try to keep it away, and they're just patrolling the city perimeter, trying to keep the dragon from attacking again!"

Robin sighed, understanding now why Emperor Yashiro had reached out to him. "Thank you, Lissa. Just keep the dragon out of trouble for now, okay? We'll be in touch as soon as possible," he promised.

"What? How long will that be? Wait!" Lissa cried, as Robin dismissed the mirror's magic, cutting off the communication early.

He then turned back to the other mirror. "Emperor Yashiro. Would the pressing concerns that you spoke of relate to a dragon-like eidolon capturing and using the portal?" Robin guessed.

The emperor smiled apprehensively. "I take it someone else just delivered the bad news. I'm afraid that's correct. We believe it to be Calamity, the other dire eidolon which Lord Nasir warned us about," he said.

"Alright. Thank you for the warning. There's not much we can do here on the open road, but as soon as our planning is finished, we will make our way back to Begnion," Robin said. "Hopefully, we'll have a more complete report for you by then, too."

"I look forward to it," Yashiro said, inclining his head slightly, a gesture which Robin quickly reciprocated.

"Well, this throws a wrinkle into our plans," Robin said, as soon as the second mirror went dark, too.

"Dad, we have to send help," Morgan said quickly, her eyes wide with panic. "Cynthia and Lucina are here, which means both the Pegasus knights and Shepherds are without their leaders."

"I know the two of you were hoping to stay and help us with our troubles, but if your kingdom is under attack, it needs its ruler and his tactician," Kurth agreed.

"They're right, Robin," Chrom said worriedly. "Lissa and Frederick can't deal with this mess by themselves. We need to head home right away."

"It's not that easy," Robin said, shaking his head. "In order to activate the portals, you need warp powder on both ends, as well as a keystone on one side, calibrated to the destination gateway. I only had time to build two keystones, one to bring us here, and one to bring us back."

"So we'll have to build another one when we return to Begnion?" Chrom asked, groaning in dismay. "How long will that take?"

"Worse than that. Begnion doesn't have the materials for a keystone. I asked about it back when we were building the gateway. I have enough materials for a few more keystones at home, but…" Robin said.

"But Miriel and her assistant are away visiting Plegia, and you're on the wrong side of the portal," Chrom finished with a sigh. "What are we going to do, Robin?"

Robin turned and started fishing in his pack again. He returned a moment later with a pouch, and quickly sized up its contents. "We have enough warp powder to reactivate the portal, with enough left over for at least two messengers," Robin calculated. His eyes lit up, though his expression grew a bit nervous. "Alright, I've got an idea. We'll send Lionel to Daein, and a messenger to Phoenicis, too."

"To Kilvas," Celera corrected.

"To Kilvas, then," Robin agreed. "Wherever our allies in Phoenicis will be. The rest of us will return to Begnion for now. Once there, I will use the mirror to try to coach someone in Ylisstol through building another keystone. At the very least, Chrom is needed back in Ylisse. We should also retrieve some more of the warp powder for our work here."

"I'll go to Kilvas," Celera volunteered immediately.

"No." This time it was Soren who interrupted. "Calamity is accounted for now, but we cannot risk the civil war in Phoenicis spreading any further," he said. "Our messenger to King Phoenicis should be someone who Crimea, Gallia, and Goldoa can accept as being a neutral party. He can then inform King Phoenicis of the developments, before reaching out to the other three kingdoms and asking that they distance themselves from the conflict. In the meantime, he can also request help on Daein's behalf to deal with Extinction."

"Soren is right," Robin said quickly, hoping to diffuse Celera's obvious anger. "We'll send reinforcements once we can to get a better picture of what's going on in Phoenicis, but without the rest of the warp powder, reinforcements will take some time to arrive. We can't risk making the situation worse in the meantime."

"I will go," Kurth quickly volunteered, before Celera could protest. "Phoenicis and Kilvas are close to Goldoa. After I make contact with King Phoenicis, I will return to my people myself and enlist their help in reaching out to Crimea and Gallia. And perhaps we can persuade the Phoenician rebels to accept a temporary ceasefire."

"Perfect," Robin said, hiding his remaining doubts.

"This meeting is dismissed, then. The rest of you should prepare for your march back to Begnion," Kurth suggested.

"King Goldoa, Prince Lionel. Come find me when you are ready to depart," Robin said, as he quickly gathered his belongings.

* * *

Save for Prince Lionel, who was already prepared to depart for Daein, the others dispersed almost immediately after exiting the tent to check on their belongings one last time.

Severa, Morgan, and Soren found themselves loitering nearby, their own belongings resting beside them. Abruptly, Morgan turned back to the tent. "Oh, darn! Lionel, wait up!" she called, running towards the tent.

"He's probably gone already," Soren said, stopping her in her tracks.

"What's the matter?" Severa asked, seeing Morgan's disappointed expression.

"We left the _Rainfell_ in one of Daein's ports," Morgan explained. "We paid some guards to watch over it, too, but we're going to be away a lot longer than we originally said we would."

"I already told Lionel about the ship," Soren said. "He said he would take care of it for us."

"Besides, are we even planning to travel back that way?" Severa asked.

"Of course we are, aren't we? How else are we going to get the _Rainfell_ home? Speaking of which, what did you and Lucina do with the _Stormfall_?" Morgan asked.

"We left it along a beach northwest of Silent Grove. But I don't think Dad's too worried about his ships, Morgan," Severa said. "We don't need them to return home anymore, and I'm sure Dad would be perfectly fine with us leaving them here if it meant we were all going home together."

"Your father might not be worried about his ships, but he was definitely concerned about something during that meeting," Soren observed.

"Well, there's a lot to be concerned about, isn't there?" Morgan asked, unsure of Soren's meaning.

Soren shook his head. "That's not what I mean. I have a feeling there's something wrong with the plan we just set in motion. Something that he noticed, but wasn't ready to discuss," Soren said.

"Why do you say that?" Severa said, frowning.

"It was just a feeling," Soren admitted.

"Maybe he's worried about the other Severa and Morgan instead," Morgan suggested. "He doesn't like leaving them alone. Especially little Morgan. She can be quite a handful at times."

"Just like you," Severa muttered darkly. Morgan pointedly ignored her.

"It's probably nothing to worry about," Soren said. "If he feels there's no reason to bring it up, then he likely has a good reason for it. Let's head over to the Pegasus enclosure."

* * *

"Severa! Morgan!"

As they approached the temporarily fenced-in meadow, both sisters spotted their mother, standing beside her own Pegasus and waving towards them.

"Hello, Mom," Morgan said cheerily, as she quickly made her way to Cordelia's side. "Hello to you, too, Catria," she added, gently stroking Catria's mane.

"I still say you should have brought my Pegasus along, too," Severa said, as she joined them. "It feels so strange riding along with these Pegasus knights instead."

"You used to ride along with your sister, didn't you?" Cordelia reminded. "Besides, we were in a hurry, and it would have been too difficult to lead two Pegasi north with only one rider. Your father can't fly her, either; you know that Pegasi only accept female riders."

"Yeah, I know," Severa said with a sigh.

"I wonder why that is," Morgan said, chewing her lip thoughtfully. As she spoke, she absentmindedly retrieved a small sugar cube from her pocket and offered it to the Pegasus. "She should be used to Dad by now, shouldn't she?"

"It's just their nature, I imagine," Cordelia replied. "As far as I know, no one knows why Pegasi are so stubborn about their riders. A couple of weeks ago, when we traveled south to the coast, I tried to coax Catria to let your father fly her instead. It's the first time Catria absolutely refused to listen to me."

"Oh well. I guess Pegasi are just strange that way," Morgan said. Catria shot her a reproachful stare and gave a small, annoyed huff. "Sorry," Morgan apologized hastily, stifling a laugh.

"Wait a moment," Severa interrupted, as a strange thought occurred to her. "If Catria wouldn't let Dad fly her, how did you fly down to the coast? I didn't think a Pegasus could bear four passengers. Did you end up walking?"

"We flew. I think I'll let your father share that particular story," she said with a smile, her eyes twinkling mischievously. Then her face grew serious once more. "Speaking of which, did something happen during the meeting?"

Morgan blinked, surprised. "Didn't Dad tell you about it already?"

"He told me about Lissa and the emperor from Begnion contacting us, and about the monster that went through the portal," Cordelia said. "And what our plan was, too. He seemed a bit nervous about something, though," she added worriedly.

"Really?" Morgan said. She couldn't help but look across the meadow, to where one of Begnion's Pegasus knights was helping Soren climb astride her mount. "Strange. Soren was saying the same thing…"

"Same thing about what?" Robin interrupted, as he approached them.

"Dad, is there something you're not telling us?" Severa demanded bluntly.

"What brought that on?" Robin asked, looking perplexed.

"You seemed a bit worried earlier when you were telling me about the meeting," Cordelia confessed. "Are you alright, Robin?"

"I'm fine," Robin assured quietly. "There's still a few details to be worked out, but I'll have plenty of time to think. It'll be at least three, probably four days before we reach Sienne."

"What kind of details?" Morgan asked curiously.

"Oh, just a few loose ends here and there," Robin answered evasively. "We still have to decide which of us are staying here in Tellius. I still need to plan out how I'm going to coach someone through constructing the new keystone, too. Also, since it might be some time until we open the portal again, I've been trying to decide what else we will need from Ylisse. And…"

"Okay, I think we get the idea," Severa interrupted hastily.

"I think we're just about ready to depart, anyways," Morgan said, looking around at the meadow and noticing that most of the knights were already astride their Pegasi.

"Severa, before we leave, would you mind bringing something to Lucina for me?" Robin asked, as he began fumbling through his bag once more.

"Sure," Severa agreed readily, as Robin extracted what appeared to be a neatly folded piece of dark blue fabric. "What is it?" Severa asked, eyeing it curiously.

"It's a new cape for her that's been warded against magic," Robin explained. "I made two more for you and Morgan, too, but with your new armor and her new robes, it seems redundant."

"Ooh! Can I see mine anyways?" Morgan asked eagerly. "What color is it?"

"Later," Severa insisted. "We're leaving soon, remember?" She turned back to her father. "I'll get this to Lucina before we take off," she promised.

* * *

Deep in the cold, stone passages of Phoenicis Hall, the ancient fortress situated among the jagged peaks of the island's tallest mountain range, a magical rift materialized out of thin air. An elderly Beorc man, clad in elegant red and gold robes, stepped through gracefully into the middle of the throne room, showing no visible signs of the exhaustion caused by warp powder.

The throne itself was empty, but a trio of fierce men, adorned by the brown-feathered wings of hawks, stood nearby, engaged in a heated discussion. Their conversation came to an abrupt end as the rift appeared, and as one, all of them turned toward the rift suspiciously. "So you've returned, after all," the largest of the three Laguz greeted acidly.

"Oaths sworn and kept," Relic replied calmly, ignoring the overt hostility as he lifted a large pouch from his belt.

"What's that?" another of the hawks demanded suspiciously.

Relic smiled. "Fortunes promised, assistance rendered," was all the explanation he offered as he casually flipped the pouch over to the questioner.

The hawk caught the pouch dexterously, and carefully undid the knot. With a satisfied nod, he held the opened container out for his companions to see. "It's the Olivi grass he promised us," he said grudgingly.

"Good. When the fighting starts for real, we'll be outnumbered, even if it is by the worthless ravens," the first hawk said. "We can wring their skinny necks easily enough, and now we'll have plenty of time to do it."

"This isn't nearly enough, and you know it," the last hawk said. While his two companions appeared to be rather young, he appeared to be middle-aged, at least. He turned to Relic suspiciously. "You can't seriously expect us to carry out our revolution with only a single pouch of Olivi grass, when we're outnumbered three-to-one. This may not even last the duration of our campaign for the three of us in this room!"

"Only a mere token," Relic assured. "Our loyalty is pledged."

"Your loyalty better extend to more than this," the older hawk said skeptically. "You promised us reinforcements. Or did you forget about that entirely?"

"Better that their reinforcements never come, Astor," the first hawk grumbled. "It is a sad day indeed when we hawks must rely on Beorc weaponry and magic to reclaim our throne."

"Have you already forgotten, Lister? We're quite outnumbered already, and Strife's foreign allies are many," Astor reminded testily.

"Unity must be earned!" Relic interrupted fiercely, drawing the attention of all three hawks once more. "Numbers can be overcome," he promised, quieting once more.

"By Beorc magic," Lister said sourly.

"They will learn humility," Relic said, grinning ominously.

"Just make sure your reinforcements will be there as promised," Astor demanded. "We will need them sooner than we'd like; Prince Valent still refuses to cooperate."

"Who cares?" Lister grumbled. "Once the false king is dead and splayed upon the rocks, stubborn Valent won't have any other choice. If he still won't accept the crown then, we'll just have to give it to someone worthy instead."

"His support will make our campaign far easier," Astor insisted. "It's the only chance we have of trying to bring the rest of our people to our side!" A flurry of motion drew the attention of all three hawks back to Relic.

Only Relic wasn't standing there any longer. In his place was a young, sturdily-built hawk with jet-black, messy hair.

The unmistakable form of Prince Valent.

"Valent!?" Lister gasped.

"A noble guise assumed," "Valent" replied. As he spoke, he removed a green cape and became an old Beorc once more. "Be wary, be cautious," he warned, as he passed the cape to Lister, who stared at it dumbly.

"Interesting. If Valent is unwilling to lead us, then a doppelganger will have to suffice. Perhaps it will even be enough to change young Valent's mind," Astor observed, with a wicked grin. "Why don't we show our new trick to Valent, and see if it inspires some cooperation?"

Lister donned the cape hesitantly, clearly uncomfortable with the thought of relying on Beorc magic. But as soon as the magic took effect, warping his shape into that of Prince Valent, his gleeful expression mirrored Astor's. "You're right, Astor. I can hardly wait to see his expression when he sees me wearing his face!" Lister gloated. He turned back to Relic, and it seemed even the extraordinary gift had done little to ease his suspicion. "We'll still need more Olivi grass, and the reinforcements you promised," he warned, despite his earlier reluctance towards said reinforcements.

Relic dipped into a deep bow. "Fealty paid, victory assured," he said solemnly.

Satisfied for the moment, Lister turned. "Skylar, Astor. With me," he commanded. Obediently, both of the other hawks fell in line behind him. Together, the three set a course for the deepest bowels of the Phoenicis Hall, seeking a particular guest kept in the disused dungeon below.


	5. Chapter 2

**~ Chapter 2 ~**

 _The desiccated wasteland shimmered in the heat of the sweltering summer sun. It was a land as unforgiving as any land could be. The dried and brittle remains of unfortunate desert creatures lay scattered sporadically across the desolate plain, but no other signs of life remained._

 _No other signs, save for a single, cloaked man who made his way steadily across the wasteland, seemingly blind to the ominous sights surrounding him._

 _A colossal sculpture loomed ahead of him eerily. From a distance, it appeared to be the skeleton of some sort of winged, reptilian creature. Its skull was lined with massive fangs, and bore six, hollow eye sockets that leered cruelly at the man as he approached. The structure bore six skeletal wings as well, lying limply across its exposed ribs. Up close, the bones appeared glassy, and glinted under the bright sun._

 _The man marched straight past the demented effigy, neither hurrying nor slowing his pace, as if he hadn't even noticed it. Instead, he focused on a drab temple that rested only a few hundred paces away from the effigy. Strangely, the man felt no satisfaction from seeing his destination so close. Though he knew he'd find himself in battle before long, he felt neither dread nor apprehension._

 _Few would willingly venture into such a barren land. None would willingly reside in such a place, save for those with secrets too dark to be kept anywhere else._

 _But the man knew all too well the lengths to which the Grimleal were willing to go in order to realize their darkest dreams._

 _Without hesitation, the man approached the temple and stepped through the open door, not caring that his footsteps echoed loudly on the cold, stone floor. Tapestries and murals depicting vile and inhuman rituals greeted him, as did images and sculptures of the fell dragon's demonic visage. The man didn't react, save for drawing back his hood and gingerly lifting a tome from his belt._

* * *

 _Deep in the heart of the temple, six robed men were gathered around a black marble altar. Atop the altar was another effigy of their cursed deity, and lying at the foot of the altar was the corpse of a young woman, an innocent Plegian villager taken from her home to be offered to the fell dragon. Some of her blood had been captured in a small, golden goblet and laid upon the altar before the effigy, while the rest laid where it had been spilled, pooled around her battered and torn body._

 _Over a dozen Grimleal soldiers were seated nearby on simple wooden benches, enjoying the spectacle of the gruesome ritual._

 _The turbulent, howling noise that resonated through the enclosed temple was the only warning any of the Grimleal were graced with, before a magically conjured cyclone spun through the doorway. The high priests had time only to cry out in alarm, before the spell caught them and flung them violently across the chamber._

 _The spectating soldiers rose to their feet at once, grabbing their weapons as soon as they saw the small man with dark green hair and a curious, crimson brand on his forehead. But they were far too late. With a mere thought, the branded mage sent another powerful gust, tossing the soldiers and their wooden benches brutally aside. Most of the soldiers caught in the spell were killed outright, and those who escaped the brunt of the magical assault were left bruised and battered, lying amidst piles of corpses and splinters._

 _One of the Grimleal soldiers defiantly crawled to his feet, sword in hand. He had only taken two steps before the branded mage drew a sword of his own. Despite being nearly twenty paces away, the mage swung his sword horizontally in the swordsman's direction. A wave of energy erupted from the shimmering golden blade, rippling across the hallway and striking the Grimleal soldier's throat, decapitating him instantly._

 _"How dare you intrude upon this holy place!?"_

 _The dark-haired intruder calmly turned towards the voice, to find that one of the six high priests had survived his first magical salvo. The Grimleal priest had drawn a tome of his own, bound in dark violet cloth, and began to chant ominously. Black lightning erupted all around the branded mage with a powerful, crackling noise. The cursed energies seemed to swell, and then burst, and streams of darkness cascaded wildly around the branded mage._

 _When the magical shadow faded, the Grimleal priest gasped aloud. His victim was still standing, and indeed, was even smiling faintly. "That's… that's not possible!" the priest protested feebly._

 _Soren's response came in the form of another wicked gale, surging across the chamber and slashing into the defeated priest's chest. The priest crumbled to his knees, ironically falling right beside the mutilated corpse of his most recent victim. He clutched his belly tightly, futilely trying to staunch his wounds with his fingers as his own warm blood gushed forth and mixed with the dead woman's._

 _"You are dead," Soren said dispassionately, as he approached the dying man._

 _"M-Master… G-Grima…" the priest stammered weakly._

 _"I wonder if he'll offer your soul a place by his side," Soren said coolly. "Or perhaps he'll leave you to face those the people you've murdered. Can you still see their faces, you wretched man?" As Soren spoke, he grasped the priest's chin firmly, and forcibly turned the man's head to gaze directly into the eyes of the corpse beside him. "Can you still hear their cries?" Soren asked. The priest only whimpered feebly, unable to find his voice._

 _After a moment, Soren flung the man back against the altar in disgust. "I think it would be better if your master claimed you, after all. Better that you and your followers crawl into the darkest abyss, so that none of your victims should ever have to look upon your vile faces again."_

 _The priest sputtered and drew his last breath. Lying amidst the wreckage in the room, the few surviving Grimleal soldiers stirred nervously, unwilling to confront the dangerous mage with their leaders lying dead. Soren ignored them, and drew a different tome, one bound in velvety red cloth._

 _A moment later, Soren stepped out of the antechamber, ignoring the agonized screams of the unfortunate surviving Grimleal. Magical flames swept the room behind him, devouring his victims, dead or alive. Soren quickened his pace as he went, and soon stepped out into the sunlight once more just as the temple's damaged supporting columns fell and the temple itself began to collapse. He turned and hurled a few more bursts of fire into the temple for good measure, before feeding magical winds into the hungry flames, inciting them further._

 _"It's over, Nestor," Soren said quietly, as he gazed upon the burning wreckage. "The Grimleal are dead, and their bodies and dreams have been swept away by the flames, cleansed from this world in a purifying blaze."_

 _The flames continued to flicker and crackle as the temple crumbled and burned, leaving only a flaming ruin and an old man who felt older than ever. "Does it even make a difference to you?" Soren whispered. "Whether they lived or died, I mean. You would be at peace either way, wouldn't you?"_

 _As he spoke, he couldn't help but laugh at the futility of it all. There was no shortage of evil in the world. In fact, there were almost certainly more chapters of the Grimleal faith hidden across Plegia. He could spend a lifetime hunting and destroying these fanatics and still change nothing. "But that's the way life is, isn't it?" Soren said, completing his thoughts aloud. "We can seek and destroy the darkness each and every time it surfaces. We may have won countless battles, and may win countless more still, but we will never claim victory in this endless war," he recited._

 _A soft squeak echoed through the warm and dry air. Soren looked down in time to see a rat, fleeing from the burning ruin and scrambling to find cover from the roiling waves of heat emanating from the razed temple and the scorching sun. "Funny. I never knew it was possible to feel so cold on a warm summer's day, standing in a desert beside such a powerful blaze," Soren said morosely._

 _With those final words spoken, he turned and began marching away, casting his thoughts east to sleepy Azure Pyre. But just like the burning temple and the sweltering sun, even the thoughts of his home did little to warm his frozen heart._

 _The taste of vengeance had proved more bitter than sweet._

* * *

High atop one of Kilvas's many narrow and jagged cliffs, a young man and woman sat in silence. Though their perch seemed rather precarious, their dark-feathered wings belied their true nature. Neither of the two raven Laguz feared falling, even from such a great height.

In better times, the two would likely have been conversing casually, and would likely have been accompanied by more of their brethren, and likely patrolling the more populated parts of Kilvas to keep any domestic disturbances from getting out of hand.

But the impending war against Phoenicis loomed over them, and the vast majority of Kilvas's soldiers were spread along the island's perimeter. So far, the fighting had been confined to a few minor skirmishes in Phoenicis, when many who once resided in Phoenicis were forced to flee their former home. Still, every soldier knew that the worst was yet to come, and together, they dutifully maintained their silent vigil.

The loud beating of wings broke the silence abruptly, announcing the approach of a visitor from behind.

"Good morning," Strife greeted the two soldiers cheerfully, taking no note of the tension in the air.

"King Phoenicis!" the two soldiers gasped together as they turned to see their king standing before them, dressed in his simple, neat dark coat, with his midnight blue hair immaculately combed.

"At ease, my friends," Strife said, smiling gently. "How goes your watch? Do you have anything to report?"

"Nothing, sir!" the male soldier replied. "No signs of the insurgents at all. At least, not since our watch began six hours ago."

"Those who we relieved reported the same," the female soldier added.

"Six hours ago?" Strife said, pretending to be surprised, though he knew all the patrol schedules by heart.

"We are nearing the end of our shift," the male soldier said.

Strife was already shaking his head. "That will not do. I appreciate your dedication, but it's not easy to remain vigilant after being grounded for so long," he said.

"We will not shy from our duty," the female soldier said immediately. Her companion quickly nodded in agreement.

"Of course not," Strife agreed. "But many others have volunteered to share in your burden, and there's no reason to wear yourselves out more than necessary. I'm afraid I must insist that the two of you retire from your post for now. Why don't you two find yourselves a nice meal and get some rest?

"But…" the male soldier began to protest.

"That was an order, soldier," Strife said, smiling once more. "Worry not. Another patrol is already on its way to relieve you. Fly along now, you two. Your captain will send word of your new schedule shortly."

After several stammered words of gratitude, the two weary soldiers set off, still doing their best to hide their fatigue as they went. Strife nodded with satisfaction as he saw them fly past a group of Laguz heading in the opposite direction, likely the relief he had organized the night before.

"King Phoenicis," a middle-aged raven Laguz greeted him politely, as he dipped into a deep bow. Six others accompanied him, four ravens like himself, and a pair of hawks. All six of the accompanying Laguz moved to assume similarly deferential poses.

"General Tarn," Strife acknowledged politely. "Are you seeing our volunteers to their new posts personally?"

"I am," Tarn confirmed. "As are my commanders. Once our posts are adequately staffed once more, we will ensure the new schedules are distributed to the rest of our soldiers. As promised, no shift will last longer than four hours."

"Good. Would you mind if I were to accompany you to the next post?" Strife asked.

Tarn shook his head. "You have a visitor waiting for you back in Castle Kilvas, Your Majesty," Tarn replied.

"A visitor?" Strife said, sounding surprised. "I was not expecting any of our allies to contact us so soon; we have yet to send formal envoys requesting help. Has the Nighthawk returned?"

"I do not know," Tarn said, shaking his head. "If she has, she did so without alerting any of our sentries. It was actually Lord Tibarn who met with our visitor and sent for you. When I inquired of the identity of your visitor, Lord Tibarn claimed it would be better for you to see for yourself."

"Very well," Strife said. "I'm sorry to impose, Captain, but would you mind informing the rest of our weary sentries of the change in scheduling?"

"Of course, Your Majesty," Tarn said immediately.

* * *

Strife nodded with grim satisfaction when he saw that Castle Kilvas remained more or less unprotected. There were a few bodyguards within watching over his sister, uncle, and Tibarn, but the castle had been little more than a home for him and his sister, Belle, while they were growing up. After Strife accepted the throne of Phoenicis, he had moved into Phoenicis Hall in an effort to leave most of the routines intact while preserving the unity of the bird tribes, leaving Castle Kilvas for his sister and uncle. In light of the conflict in Phoenicis, there was definitely a reason to fear for his own safety, but he couldn't help but feel that guards seemed out of place in Castle Kilvas.

He glided gently down the quiet halls, making his way to what had once been his father's throne room. King Naesala had stepped down long before either of his children were born, and during Strife's childhood, the throne room had become more of a family living room.

"I have returned," Strife said, touching down gently and striding into the throne room. As he expected, Tibarn and Reyson were already there waiting for him, as was his visitor.

"Good morning, Strife," Kurth said. "It's been a while since we've last spoken, hasn't it? I'm glad to see you are well."

"King Goldoa?" Strife gasped, unable to hide his surprise.

"Please, just call me Kurth," Kurth insisted. "This is an informal gathering, after all, isn't it?"

Strife nodded numbly. "Where have you been, Kurth? I was beginning to fear that you had disappeared off the face of Tellius entirely."

"Funny that you say that," Kurth said with a smile. "I have a few interesting developments to share with you, but before that, why don't we start with your situation here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Tibarn grumbled discontentedly, before Strife could answer. "That scheming buzzard, Lister, is behind all of this. I should've wrung his skinny little neck when I had…"

"We can't be certain, but Tibarn's theory is probable, at the very least," Strife interrupted. "I understand that Lister's father was quite skeptical of uniting our tribes, and only stood behind the decision because Phoenicis would still remain under the governance of a hawk. Lister has inherited his father's prejudice, and has indicated, often and loudly, that no raven can adequately rule this country. Still, Lister has never mustered the support necessary for such a coup before."

"Perhaps it's Celera's absence," Reyson suggested softly. "When Lister learned of Celera's departure, he may have saw an opportunity to capture Valent as well, leaving Strife alone."

"Valent is still alive, then?" Kurth asked hopefully.

"We believe so," Strife said grimly. "Lister can't hope to hold onto the throne for long if it becomes known that he murdered Valent. I can only pray that Lister isn't stupid enough to have forgotten that."

"You should know better than to count on Lister's intelligence, Brother," a melodious, feminine voice chided softly.

Strife winced uncomfortably as his sister stepped into the room. The blond, green-eyed heron girl quickly chose one of the empty armchairs and seated herself. Her smile fell away as soon as she saw the discomfort on her older brother's face. "I'm afraid it's the only hope Valent has," Strife admitted. "If Valent escaped, he would have returned to us by now, or at least sent word to us that he was alright."

Strife then turned to Kurth. "Kurth, would you mind sending word to Nasir when you have a chance? He came to Phoenicis seeking help a few months back, and I sent the Nighthawk to his side. I have not heard from either of them since," Strife said.

"I only just left their side," Kurth said reassuringly. "Celera and Ulki are well, and are on their way to Begnion as we speak."

"You've been with Celera and Ulki?" Tibarn asked, astonished.

Strife sighed as the pieces clicked into place at last. "So that's where you've been this whole time. After Port Toha was destroyed, you couldn't let the mysteries surrounding the eidolons go, could you? When Crimea, Gallia, and Begnion refused to involve themselves further, you set out on your own to study the eidolons. And when Nasir came to us, asking for help in investigating the Redeemers, he was working for you," Strife guessed.

"Correct," Kurth said. "Though in hindsight, there was no reason for Nasir to be so cryptic with you. You and Queen Micaiah were, after all, the only other monarchs to agree that Maelstrom's return warranted further investigation."

"We remember the blight Extinction brought upon us," Strife said darkly. "We will never make the mistake of underestimating such terrible creatures again."

"And yet you chose not to warn us that Extinction remained alive, sealed beneath the Flameheart Mountains," Kurth accused. As the dragon Laguz's words sank in, Tibarn looked up in horror, and Reyson and Belle both turned to him, unsure of what to say next. Only Strife remained unperturbed.

"I did not believe it my place to speak for the former king," Strife said, shrugging. "I apologize for our deception."

"Who else knew?" Kurth asked.

"Asides from those of us in the room now, just Celera and Ulki," Strife replied, though he looked questioningly at Tibarn, wondering whether the former king had shared the truth with any others.

"Janaff knew, too, before his passing," Belle added quietly.

"It wasn't Strife's fault, Kurth," Tibarn croaked. "When I told him, I forced an oath from him to keep the truth silent. Strife tried to persuade me otherwise on many occasions, but…"

"Nevertheless, it remains my responsibility, for I chose not to press the point further," Strife interrupted. "When Extinction never resurfaced, we thought him destroyed, after all, rendering the debate meaningless. But Kurth, how did you learn the truth of Extinction's fate?"

"One of the former Redeemers was able to strengthen and release Extinction," Kurth replied grimly. "The eidolon is free now, and making his way towards Daein. To make matters worse, my attempts to find the fabled Dominion Scepter resulted in the release of Calamity, too. All three of the dire eidolons have returned to our world."

"And the scepter you were searching for?" Strife asked.

"The scepter has fallen into the hands of the Redeemers," Kurth admitted. "Speaking of which, we suspect the Redeemers to have a hand in your current plight, too. Two of the former servants of the Redeemers have turned against their former companions. They have allied themselves with us, and have offered us insight into the Redeemers' schemes. It seems the Redeemers were trying to incite unrest, in hopes of creating as much confusion as possible. They also hold the Fire Emblem, now, and are able to channel the energy it gathers into their eidolon servants."

"The Fire Emblem?" Reyson asked, startled. "But Yune was released from the medallion!"

"Yes, but it seems the medallion still holds some sort of power," Kurth said. "Or perhaps its power was rekindled by the Redeemers. Either way, your war here in Phoenicis now works to their favor. They will try to prolong it, if possible."

"I hate to ask this question, but do you have _any_ good news for us, Kurth?" Tibarn groaned.

"Possibly," Kurth said. "Do you remember Soren, friend to the Radiant Hero and tactician of the Greil Mercenaries?"

"Vaguely," Tibarn said with a thoughtful frown. "He was a Beorc child who did most of the strategizing for the Laguz Alliance, right? The boy who hated us Laguz?"

"Not Beorc, but branded. He is alive, and has returned to Tellius, along with several companions from a faraway continent," Kurth said.

"A faraway continent?" The gathering turned to see another heron entering the room. Unlike Reyson and Belle, the feathers of his wings were coal-black, as was his hair.

"Hello, Lehran," Kurth greeted. "That was precisely my reaction, too, when I learned of Ylisse. It appears there are continents far enough to have escaped Ashunera's attention during the Great Flood. I've learned quite a bit, lately; perhaps it would be best if I were to start from the beginning instead…"

* * *

"Look out! It's making another pass!"

Upon hearing the warning from one of his soldiers, Frederick glanced upward Sure enough, the mighty, draconic abomination had banked hard and was diving straight at them, his golden, flaming eyes swirling murderously.

"Spread out and ready your javelins!" Frederick roared, before breaking away from the formation and drawing one of his own throwing spears. The mounted knights accompanying him followed suit and promptly scattered.

Flames poured forth from the flying behemoth's gaping maw. The killing flames narrowly missed all of the Ylissean fighters, but left a vicious, scorched mark in its wake. As the fires dissipated, small glowing embers remained, slowly burning away the few blades of grass that had miraculously survived the initial blaze.

Frederick's knights rallied admirably, and the dragon quickly soared higher to escape the ensuing barrage of javelins and arrows. The mounted soldiers ceased their assault as soon as the eidolon was out of their range, conserving their ammunition.

But the dragon hadn't entirely escaped. In a flash of feathers, Ylisse's Pegasus knights descended upon their foe with blinding speed. Icy shards materialized around the eidolon before spinning out towards the Pegasi, but the skilled knights were already carefully moving perpendicular to the magical assault, giving them ample time to dodge the projectiles. The dragon gave an outraged roar, and his horns began to glow with pulsing energy.

"Lightning! Get back!" one of the Pegasus knights cried to her comrades. They retreated at once, and when a storm of lightning burst forth, none of the Pegasi were in range any longer. As soon as the conjured lightning faded, though, the Pegasus knights charged forth once more, striking the beast relentlessly from every opening they could find.

Below, one of the mounted knights, clad in polished viridian armor, rode forth carrying not a javelin, but a strangely shaped sword. The eidolon was slowly and unwittingly descending as the Pegasus knights continued their assault, and finally, when the knight saw that his target was within his range, he mustered all the strength he could and flung the sword at the dragon's chest.

His throw fell just a bit short, and the sword buried itself into the dragon's thigh instead. Unlike the javelins, this weapon cut through the mighty eidolon's scales cleanly.

The eidolon thrashed mightily, and the sword slid free of his wound, tumbling to the meadow below as golden vapor drifted free of the wicked gash. Angrily, the dragon spun and retaliated with another burst of flames. The offending knight tried to retreat, but a magical glow surrounded him long before the roaring flames found him. When the flames subsided, there was no trace of the knight or his mount.

Frederick turned instinctively when he saw the familiar magic carrying Stahl to safety, and wasn't surprised to see his wife standing just outside the city gates with her staff drawn. What _did_ surprise him was that the staff was now pointed at him. Lissa invoked the staff again, pulling him to her side as well. He could have resisted the staff's magic, perhaps, but he knew better than to incur the wrath of Ylisse's princess, and more importantly, his wife.

"Lissa, what are you doing out here?" Frederick asked once he arrived at Lissa's side.

"I finally reached Chrom and Robin," Lissa replied, forestalling any further complaints.

Frederick was visibly relieved, as was Stahl, who was still trying to recover his breath after the close call. "Are they on their way back?" Stahl wheezed.

"I don't know," Lissa said worriedly. "Robin promised he'd be in touch 'as soon as possible', whatever that means. He also asked us to 'keep the dragon out of trouble'."

"What!?" Stahl cried indignantly. "How does he expect us to do that?"

Frederick frowned. "It sounds like they've has found some trouble of their own," he said thoughtfully, as he watched the eidolon retreat once more, glaring balefully at the city's defenders. "We will just have to do our best until they return, I suppose. At least we haven't sustained any casualties since the first attack. Our soldiers are adapting reasonably well, all things considered."

"But how much longer can we hope to keep this up, Frederick?" Stahl asked desperately.

"Only a third of our ground force, and half of our Pegasus knights are out on the field at once," Frederick estimated. "The rest are too weary to fight on, for now, but we're holding our ground regardless. "If we divide our army into three, a third of our army can be safely resting at any point in time. Then we can hold out as long as we need to."

"Until we run out of javelins," Stahl reminded with a heavy sigh. "I guess you're right, though. We don't have much choice."

"You could always resort to throwing swords at it," Frederick remarked. "Speaking of which, that was quite a throw back there. It seems the old Valmese wyvern-slaying swords we had lying around are just as effective against this creature."

"So we're going to be okay?" Lissa asked nervously.

"For some time, at least," Frederick reassured gently. "But if you see Robin again, tell him to hurry. We won't be able to keep this creature out forever. Worse still, if it decides to leave of its own accord, there is little we can do to stop it from terrorizing the countryside."

Stahl cringed. "We'll just have to do what we can," he said, trying to hide his dismay. "Oh, by the way. Frederick, could you say something to Vaike when you get a chance?"

"Is he still rambling on about the dragon being a shape-changer?" Frederick fumed. "With the way he's going about scaring all of our soldiers, it's almost as if he thinks we aren't facing enough problems already. Thanks, Stahl. I'll have a word with him when I see him again."

* * *

The sight of over a hundred majestic, winged white horses soaring gently through the sky was enough to turn the heads of almost every villager below. Most of the onlookers cheered as the Begnion Holy Guard swept past them. The wiser spectators quickly realized that trouble must be stirring somewhere for the famed riders to be away from the capital and traveling with such haste, but the sight still brought a smile to many of their faces.

But tensions were far higher among those riding astride the beautiful Pegasi. Their flight had been swift, and Sienne was now only a day's flight away, but each knight still pressed her mount to fly on as quickly as possible.

One Pegasus lagged only slightly behind, at the direction of her red-haired rider. Cordelia looked rather nervous as she carefully guided Catria to follow a short distance behind the rest of the procession. "Are you sure this can't wait until we reach Begnion? Or at least until tonight when we make camp?" she asked.

"The sooner Lissa makes the preparations in Ylisse, the better," Robin replied calmly, as he carefully extracted his magical mirror from his traveling pouch with a hand already holding a pinch of powder. "And I'd rather have this conversation away from prying ears. There's no sense in creating unnecessary panic."

"Unnecessary, but perfectly warranted," Cordelia mumbled, though her voice carried on the wind.

Robin frowned, though of course, his wife could not see him. "Are you sure you're alright with this? You're the only person I've mentioned this plan to. If you don't like it, then I'll just forget about it and come up with something else. No one else would ever have to know."

"Your plan is fine, Robin," Cordelia interrupted, though her voice still sounded strained. "I don't like it, but you're right. If you haven't thought of another way by now, there probably isn't one."

"If it makes you feel better, I wouldn't even have suggested it if I wasn't perfectly sure it would be safe," Robin said gently.

"I know," Cordelia sighed. "Just… promise me you'll be careful, alright?"

"I promise," Robin swore solemnly. He fumbled with the mirror and powder for a moment, trying to apply the powder to the mirror's surface singlehandedly without dropping it. When the fog cleared away, to be replaced by complete darkness, he knew he had succeeded. "Lissa? Are you there?" Robin called into the mirror. A few seconds passed. "Lissa!" Robin tried again.

A second later, the princess's relieved expression appeared in the mirror. "Robin! You're back!"

"Sorry for cutting you off before," Robin apologized. "What's the situation with Calamity?"

"Calamity?" Lissa asked, confused.

"The dragon," Robin prompted.

"Oh! He's still flying circles around our city. Our soldiers are getting worn out from constantly following it, though," Lissa said. "Robin, what are we going to do?"

"Let me get back to you on that," Robin said with a grimace. "First things first. Calamity stole the keystone that was meant to bring us home. So this is what we have to do…"

At first, Lissa nodded silently as Robin listed off the preparations he needed from her. Robin worded his instructions meticulously, leaving absolutely no room for misinterpretation. But when his endgame became clear, Lissa's eyes went wide with disbelief. "Have you gone mad, Robin?" Lissa said, raising her voice into a near shout.

"I don't think so," Robin said with a wry grin. "Look, we don't have a lot of time. Trust me, I've thought this through. This is the best way, and might be the only way."

"Does Cordelia know?" Lissa demanded.

"Of course she knows," Robin replied patiently.

"And she's okay with this?"

"Well, she hasn't thrown me off Catria's back for suggesting it," Robin said. "We should be arriving in Begnion tomorrow. I'll have everything prepared on this end by nightfall, though it seems as if the sun sets a few hours earlier here than it does in Ylisse."

"Okay," Lissa agreed, though she still sounded apprehensive. "I'll make sure everything on this side is ready to go by tomorrow afternoon, then," she promised. "You're absolutely sure this will work, right?" she added.

"As sure as I could be of anything, at this point," Robin replied with a sordid chuckle.

* * *

Begnion's capital of Sienne came into view early the following afternoon. The city's guards must have seen the approaching Pegasus knights, for in the five minutes it took for the Pegasi to close the remaining distance, a large crowd of civilians had swelled by the city gates, only clearing a path when Emperor Yashiro himself arrived less than a minute later, accompanied by a handful of elite guards.

Yashiro first approached the leader of the Pegasus knights. "Commander Kara," he greeted solemnly. "You have performed admirably in returning to Begnion so quickly. You and your knights must be tired after such a long flight. I know it's customary for you to offer a report following the completion of your mission, but I must first speak with our guests. Why don't you find some rest in the meantime?"

"Yes, Emperor. Thank you," the commander replied, bowing her head politely.

Yashiro turned to face the rest of the returned forces, his eyes searching the crowd for his foreign guests. When he spotted Robin at last, he gestured for Robin to step forth. "It is a shame we did not find time to meet before you set off for the Snowflake Forest," the emperor began. "And even now, urgent business presses upon us."

Robin nodded in agreement. "Emperor Yashiro, I would like to contact our friends back in Ylisse to help us reactivate the portal. Exalt Chrom must return to his kingdom as soon as possible."

"Naturally," Yashiro agreed. "But what of yourself, and your other companions?"

"Some have already indicated that they would like to remain in Tellius for now," Robin admitted. "With your permission, I'd like to borrow one of your workshops here in Begnion. That way, I will be able to help the exalt with their battles using the magical mirrors even while assisting with your efforts here."

"Begnion thanks you and your companions for your willingness to help us in our troubles," Yashiro said courteously. "And I am certain we will find a way to accommodate your needs. Is there anything you need from us right now?"

Robin shook his head quickly. "A clear space to work near the portal is all I will need for now. I don't have the materials here in Tellius, nor do we have time to search for them," he explained. As he spoke, he turned as if searching for someone.

Most of the Pegasus knights had left already, making it easy for Robin to find his younger daughter. He gestured for her to join them. "Morgan, I need your help with something," Robin said as she neared.

"Sure. What is it?" Morgan asked curiously.

"I need you to reach out to everyone else and figure out where everyone's headed," Robin explained.

"You're leaving it up to me?" Morgan asked, her eyes going wide with surprise.

"We're leaving it up to them, mostly," Robin corrected. "Chrom is needed back in Ylisse for sure, and Sumia will probably go with him, but I don't know what Lucina, Cynthia, and Owain are planning. I don't think your mother and sister are going anywhere without you. Celera is adamant about returning to Kilvas, and Ulki will likely follow her, but I don't know about anyone else."

"We should probably send help to Daein, as well," Nasir interrupted quietly. "They will need help in dealing with Extinction."

Yashiro grimaced. "Begnion will stand by Daein," he promised quickly. "Though I would appreciate a complete briefing of the events that transpired in the Snowflake Forest, Lord Nasir."

"Of course," Nasir agreed with a bow.

"That makes things a little simpler," Robin said, turning to Morgan once more. "The sooner we know who's returning to Ylisse and who's headed for Kilvas, the faster we can get moving once we sort out the portal. Alright?"

"I'll have it all figured out by the time the portal's ready," Morgan promised.

* * *

"No way!" Cynthia protested immediately.

Morgan glanced at her sister helplessly, who in turn, only shrugged. "Cynthia, your Pegasus knights need their captain," Morgan reminded gently.

"Lucy's in charge of the Shepherds, but you're not sending _her_ home," Cynthia said.

"There really aren't a whole lot of Shepherds left in Ylisse right now, anyways, and they're just fighting alongside the rest of the army," Morgan pointed out. "Uncle Chrom will be heading home, too, but the Pegasus knights will need their leader flying beside them."

Morgan shot Lucina a pleading look. Originally, she had hoped that Lucina would be willing to return to Ylisse, too, but Lucina's expression made her position quite clear. Neither she nor Severa were going anywhere without Morgan, it seemed, and even Cynthia's protests had done little to change that.

"You're letting Lucy, Severa, and Owain stay. Why can't I stay here and help out, too?" Cynthia whined. "That's not fair, Morgan!"

Morgan shook her head, frustrated. Reasoning with Cynthia was proving impossible. Besides, it wasn't completely true that she was _letting_ the others remain in Tellius. Owain had disappeared almost immediately after their brief meeting with the emperor. When Morgan couldn't find any sign of him, an amused Severa informed her that Owain wasn't quite ready to face his parents yet.

Thankfully, Severa decided to intervene. "That doesn't sound very heroic," she said, in a slightly mocking tone.

"Are you crazy?" Cynthia said, her eyes lighting up. "You have giant monsters on the loose and mysterious sorcerers with their evil schemes hiding in every shadow!"

"Your kingdom is under attack, and instead of leading the team of Pegasus knights that _you_ asked for, you're leaving them leaderless so that you can go off and have an adventure somewhere on the other side of the world," Severa corrected harshly.

Cynthia slumped visibly and muttered something indecipherable.

"Cynthia, our people need you back in Ylisse," Lucina said sympathetically. "If it wasn't for all the trouble we've caused here, I would be returning home with you, too. But Morgan's staying, and Sev and I can't leave her to clean up this mess all by herself."

Morgan tactfully decided against reminding Lucina that the only trouble she and Severa had "caused" was unleashing Calamity, the dire eidolon that was now in Ylisse. Somehow, Morgan doubted that either Lucina or Severa would be swayed by such reasoning.

"Cheer up, Cynthia. We're trusting in you to keep our home and our people safe. Ylisse can't afford to lose its Pegasus knights _again_ ," Severa reminded.

"Fine," Cynthia muttered, after a dramatic, disappointed sigh.

Morgan shot Severa a grateful look, but at that minute, it seemed Severa's helpfulness had run dry. "Besides, you won't be missing _too_ much," Severa said with a sly smile. "I'm sure it'll all be in the history books for you to read when this is all over."

"Sev!" Lucina scolded. Cynthia's reaction was immediate, and upon seeing her suddenly distraught expression, Lucina could only barely keep herself from laughing aloud. "I'm sorry, Morgan," she apologized hastily, as she quickly dragged Severa away.

"Just ignore Severa," Morgan said consolingly, even as her face sank into her hands.

"But she's right!" Cynthia protested.

"No, she isn't," Morgan said firmly. "She's just messing with you. This is just like the last time, Cynthia. When this is all over, we'll be doing our best to keep ourselves _out_ of the history books. Please, Cynthia. Keep our home safe for us, will you?" she pleaded.

Cynthia gave another drawn-out sigh, before nodding reluctantly, then setting off to find her parents.

Once the younger princess was out of earshot, Morgan, too, sighed, though her sigh was born of relief. "That's Uncle Chrom, Aunt Sumia, and Cynthia going home. And Anna," she counted off, remembering that the red-haired merchant had announced herself moments earlier and asked to be sent home.

"What about me? Have you decided yet?" Harmony added, appearing suddenly out of the shadows and startling the young tactician.

"Oh! Hello, Harmony," Morgan greeted. Before answering, she reconsidered Harmony's offer to travel to Ylisse and help with the battle there however she could. Again, she reached the same conclusion. "You know more about the Redeemers than anyone else we know," Morgan said, shaking her head. "I think we need your help here more than they will in Ylisse. Besides, you've already told us everything you know about Extinction, right?"

"Fair enough," Harmony agreed. "Then would you like me to accompany you to Kilvas?"

"If you're willing," Morgan said. "Though after this is all over, if you still want to see Ylisse, you're welcome to return with us," she offered, wondering if perhaps Harmony had only made her offer in the interest of seeing a foreign land.

"Maybe," Harmony said noncommittally. "I don't really have any plans right now."

"So, now what?" Severa asked, as she and Lucina returned to Morgan's side.

"Now we get some rest ourselves while Dad gets the portal working again," Morgan answered with a shrug. "He asked us to gather in the tavern near the city gates by sunset. I think the others are already there." She peered down the street towards the city gates, searching for the tavern that her father had mentioned earlier.

"Are you looking for the Silver Hall?" Nasir asked politely as he approached them from the opposite end of the street. He gestured towards one of the buildings. "It's the large, rustic building on the right."

"Thanks," Morgan said, fidgeting awkwardly. Though she had spotted Nasir in the aftermath of their battle with the Redeemers and Tantalus, she hadn't had a chance to speak to the Laguz, and remembering their last encounter still made her rather uncomfortable.

"I've spoken with Emperor Yashiro," Nasir continued. "Begnion's forces are mobilizing and will march north towards Daein as soon as they are ready. He also offered to send one of his retainers with us to Kilvas. Unofficially, of course, for the senators have yet to decide how best to approach the conflict in Phoenicis."

"'Us'? You're coming to Kilvas, too?" Morgan blurted.

Nasir smiled kindly, knowing immediately what was on her mind. "I would like to, if it won't be a problem. King Phoenicis is a friend of mine. I may have to return to Goldoa at some point in the near future, but in the meantime, I'd like to help however I may."

"Okay," Morgan agreed. "By the way… I'm sorry about… you know…"

"You have nothing to apologize for," Nasir said serenely. "We'll just call it a misunderstanding, shall we? Should we head to the Silver Hall now? Or perhaps you and your friends would instead prefer to see more of Sienne while waiting. We still have several hours before the sun sets.

* * *

Hours later, Severa, Morgan, and Nasir returned to the Silver Hall, only to find it packed to the brim with a boisterous crowd. With great difficulty, the three of them eventually pressed their way through to the largest table in the corner, where the rest of their companions were already seated.

Lucina was the first to notice them. "Nice haircut," she greeted Morgan cheerfully, noticing immediately that the younger girl had trimmed her hair just short of draping down to her shoulders.

"She was tired of brushing it," Severa explained, smirking slightly. "Turns out her patience isn't infinite, after all."

"Is Dad back yet?" Morgan asked, quickly changing the subject as she peered around, looking for any sign of her mother or father.

Lucina shook her head. "We haven't seen him, or my father, either, for that matter. They must be working on the portal still," she guessed.

"Hmm… I think I'm going to go and see if he needs any help," Morgan said, turning to leave.

"Dad specifically told us to wait here," Severa reminded. "A crowd watching over his shoulder won't make him work any faster."

"It's okay. He's used to me bothering him while he works," Morgan pointed out happily. "I'll be right back."

"I'm coming too, then," Severa insisted, and the two sisters turned to leave, pressing their way through the crowd once more.

* * *

The streets of Sienne were even busier than they had been earlier in the day, and vendors had appeared along every street corner. The rumors of foreign visitors had spread throughout the city already, but Severa and Morgan went unnoticed in the midst of the densely packed crowds.

It wasn't until they reached the city limits and passed through the open gates that anyone noticed them. The guard on duty shot the two girls curious looks, but let them through unhindered without protest. Morgan immediately spotted her mother and father, along with Chrom and Sumia, situated beside a large wooden table. Not far away, a thick stone ring with an opening four feet in diameter was resting idly atop a sturdy wooden platform.

No one seemed to notice Severa and Morgan approaching, until Morgan abruptly leaned over her father's shoulder. "Hello," she greeted enthusiastically.

Startled, Robin almost tumbled out of his seat. "Morgan!?" he gasped. "Severa? What are you two doing here?"

"We just came to see how far along you were," Morgan explained as she stared into the clouded mirror. "Still haven't made contact, huh?"

"Not yet," Cordelia said, shaking her head.

"She should be reaching out to us any minute now, though," Robin said nervously. "Why don't you and Severa wait back in the tavern, Morgan? We'll come get you when everything is ready."

"Oh come on, Dad. You know Morgan better than that," Severa said.

"This is much more interesting than any of the stories they're telling in the tavern," Morgan agreed happily.

Severa's eyes narrowed when she noticed that her father seemed to be on the verge of panic. "Is there something you're not telling us?"

Robin winced, but didn't answer.

"It looks like you're out of luck, Robin," Chrom said with an amused smile.

"They were going to find out sooner or later, anyways," Sumia pointed out. Like her husband, she didn't seem to share Robin's distress.

The mirror lit up a moment later, sparing Robin from trying to come up with an answer.

"Hello, Lissa," Robin said gratefully. "Is everything ready?"

"Yep. I think so," Lissa said.

"You're going to have Lissa build it?" Morgan asked, surprised. "I thought you would have asked Ricken to do it. He's more familiar with magic."

"Ricken always gets the materials in my workshop mixed up," Robin explained quickly. "It has to be someone who knows her way around the workshop."

"So you chose Lissa instead?" Severa asked incredulously. "Has Lissa even set foot in your workshop before today?"

"Nope," Lissa replied. "But that's okay, I'm not the one building this keystone thingy, either."

"Well, who is, then?" Severa demanded.

There was a fumbling noise as Lissa reached for and adjusted the mirror's position. "Here you go," Lissa said kindly, though her voice now sounded distant, as if she was speaking to someone else.

Then a four-year-old, red-haired toddler appeared in the mirror, peering at them curiously. Her expression turned to one of glee when she saw her father and older self. "Daddy! Morgan!" little Morgan cried out enthusiastically.


	6. Chapter 3

**~ Chapter 3 ~**

"Morgan!?" Morgan gasped aloud. She stared at the mirror in shock, her mind working furiously to make some sense of the situation.

Little Morgan and Lissa were obviously in the library workshop, and Morgan knew that her father would know better than to allow _either_ Morgan into the workshop while he was working on something sensitive. "Too distracting," as he usually phrased it. For Robin to appear unfazed by the little girl's presence meant that he had expected it. _Requested_ it. Which could only mean one thing.

Morgan turned and glared accusingly at her father.

"Yes, I know," Robin said with a sigh. "It sounds crazy, but it's the best plan I could come up with."

"Plan?" Severa asked, baffled. Clearly, she had yet to reach the same conclusion as Morgan.

"How could _this_ be the best plan you could come up with?" Morgan protested. "You don't even let _me_ use your workshop unsupervised!"

"You're teaching _Morgan_ how to build the new keystone!?" Severa shrieked, understanding at last.

"First of all, she won't be unsupervised. I'm right here, and Lissa is watching over her, too," Robin replied calmly. "And secondly… who else can I ask? Maribelle doesn't know her way around my workshop any better than Lissa does, and we don't know when Miriel will be returning from Plegia."

"But she's only four…" Morgan said, glancing worriedly into the mirror again. Her younger self only tilted her head curiously, sharing none of her older sisters' doubts.

"It'll be fine, Morgan," Cordelia said reassuringly. "Your father's right. Little Morgan spends most of her afternoons with your father in his workshop, anyways."

"Mommy?" little Morgan asked, upon hearing her mother's voice.

"She knows where everything is kept. She's even renamed most of it," Robin added with a slight smile as Cordelia leaned in to wave to their youngest daughter. "Look, I know this sounds crazy, but it's the only plan I could think of. Otherwise, we're all going to be stuck here in Tellius for a very, _very_ long time."

Severa and Morgan glanced over at Chrom and Sumia, who had both remained silent thus far. Chrom grimaced, but only shrugged and nodded. Sumia's seemed a bit more confident, but she, too, remained silent.

Robin's grim reminder hung in the air ominously, and finally, Severa relented. "I hope you know what you're doing," Severa said uneasily. The adult Morgan had been rendered mute entirely.

"I hope so, too," Robin replied absently. "Morgan, are you ready?" he asked, turning back to the mirror.

The toddler's eager nod and sunny smile offered little comfort to her older sisters, but neither interrupted as Robin began carefully relaying his instructions through the mirror.

* * *

"Is she doing it right?" Lissa asked nervously as she watched the little red-haired toddler trace seemingly random shapes upon a sheet of parchment lying atop a stone slab.

Little Morgan had seemed absolutely focused on her work, but she looked up at Lissa's words and pouted sadly.

"She's doing fine," Robin put in quickly. "You're doing great, sweetheart. Perfect," he added soothingly, when his youngest daughter turned her sorrowful expression to him. As Morgan returned to her work, Robin drew forth a pouch of powder and carefully applied another pinch to the mirror to keep the mirror's magic active.

"Really?" Severa whispered to her father, trying not to be overheard. "It looks like she's just scribbling on the parchment randomly."

"It's not random," the adult Morgan answered, keeping her voice equally low to avoid distracting her younger self. "Rune magic is weird like that. You have to use specific materials, and trace them in a specific order, too. Miriel's templates all come with markings that show you the right order, but you can't really make them out through the mirror."

"What happens if you trace them in the wrong order?" Cordelia asked uneasily.

"What happens if you put on a blindfold, pick a spell tome at random, spin around in circles until you're dizzy, then try to cast it?" Morgan replied impishly.

"Morgan!" Robin scolded, as Chrom, Sumia, and Cordelia all stared at her in horror. Morgan only smiled apologetically. "If the rune is traced incorrectly, the magic usually does nothing at all. There won't be any serious consequences," Robin answered with a deep sigh.

"Usually?" Severa muttered under her breath. She wisely decided against questioning her father's statement any further, for the tension hung painfully thick in the air already.

"Don't worry. Morgan's better than I am at tracing runes. This will be the easiest part for her," Robin said confidently. "She was watching me experiment with one about a month ago when she decided it looked fun and insisted that I teach her. I gave her some spare templates and ordinary ink to play with, and she seemed to pick it up pretty quickly."

"So that's how she keeps ending up with those odd paintings," Cordelia said thoughtfully. "She insisted that I hang them up on the wall next to some of little Severa's drawings."

"Done!" little Morgan proclaimed abruptly. She immediately busied herself, first with inspecting her handiwork, then in presenting it proudly to the mirror. She brought it a little bit too close, though, and all that could be seen was a blurry mess.

"Perfect," Robin said, without really looking at it.

"Is it finished?" Lissa asked. "Will it work?" she added, after a moment's thought.

"It's finished, and it should work, though I won't know for sure until we try it," Robin admitted.

At his words, little Morgan cast the template aside and lifted the new keystone. The stone weighed over twenty pounds, and the little girl seemed to be struggling to carry it. Undaunted, she wrapped both of her arms around it, hugging it tightly to her chest as she started for the door.

"Wait, not yet!" Robin interrupted hastily.

Obediently, little Morgan turned back to the mirror and looked at her father questioningly. "Not yet?" she asked, sounding disappointed.

"Lissa, you hold onto the stone for now," Robin decided. "Make sure the rest of the goods are near the portal. Exactly one hour from now, pour about two handfuls of the warp powder into the base of the portal. Place the keystone into the indentation when everyone is standing clear of the portal, then back away yourself until the portal is fully activated."

"Okay," Lissa agreed, as she beckoned to little Morgan, who surrendered her newest toy without a fuss.

"We'll round up everyone who's heading back to Ylisse and wait on our end of the portal," Robin said. "Use the mirror to reach me if anything goes wrong."

"Got it," Lissa said, nodding. The image in the mirror flickered away a moment later.

* * *

Together, Robin and Morgan returned to the Silver Hall to retrieve Anna and Cynthia. Cynthia shot her older sister a pleading look, as if hoping that Lucina would have changed her mind. When the older princess only shook her head solemnly, Cynthia turned her sad look to Morgan instead. Morgan smiled sympathetically, but again gestured for Cynthia to follow them, and reluctantly, the younger princess said her farewells to the group. Anna showed no such reluctance, and hopped to her feet joyfully, eager to return to her homeland at last. Finally, wanting to be there to see her family off, Lucina rose to join them as well.

To Morgan's surprise, while Cynthia pointedly refused to look back, keeping her gaze fixated on her feet, Anna continued to glance over her shoulder as if she was looking for someone. "Is something wrong?" Morgan asked as soon as they crossed the tavern's threshold.

"Sort of," Anna admitted. "I met a strange man earlier who said he wanted to talk to Robin."

"What for?" Robin asked curiously, overhearing their conversation.

"He said he wanted to ask you for a favor," Anna replied with a shrug. "He wanted me to introduce him to you, but I told him that you said you didn't want to be disturbed until you were finished with your work. I told him I'd introduce him before we left."

"And how much did you charge him for that?" Morgan teased. Anna pretended not to hear the younger tactician.

"A favor?" Robin asked thoughtfully, with more than a little doubt evident in his voice.

"He didn't say what it was," Anna continued, answering Robin's unspoken question. "And he disappeared almost right away, saying only that he'd be back when you were finished."

"Well, if he didn't come back, I suppose it couldn't have been _too_ important," Robin decided. Anna looked a bit disappointed, but gave a resigned nod. She stopped looking behind her, and they made their way through the city gates without further conversation.

None of them noticed the slight, hooded figure cautiously trailing them from a short distance, easily escaping the attention of the lone guard posted at the city gates.

Nor did they notice a second man following the first. This man made no effort to conceal himself, and simply ignored the guard's protests as he stepped through the gates himself and strode towards the portal's construction site.

* * *

Even late in the evening, the hallways of Begnion Palace were quite busy. Servants and noblemen alike scurried back and forth. For the most part, the palace's residents paid little attention to one another, pausing only to give each other a polite nod every now and then.

One particular visitor proved to be an exception to that rule. A young woman clad in an elegant dress of white silk made her way down the passages, drawing the attention of all of those around her. The nobles could only stare at her curiously, for while most of them prided themselves on knowing all the other members of Begnion's elite caste, none of them recognized the beautiful, well-dressed woman. The servants, on the other hand, found the woman hauntingly familiar. Perhaps it was her shoulder-length, lustrous green hair. Or perhaps it was her austere and rigid expression.

Fighting a resigned sigh, the woman ignored the many curious stares as she made her way towards the palace armory. A pair of sentries were standing guard over the doorway, and couldn't quite hide their surprise when she approached them.

Ignoring their reactions, the woman didn't wait for either of the two soldiers to speak. "Emperor Yashiro asked me to meet him here. Is he waiting inside the armory?" she asked. At the sound of her voice, both men flinched, recognizing her at last.

"G-General Felicia?" one of the two stunned sentries stammered. It wasn't entirely his fault; none of the soldiers had ever seen their young general without her fine, if bulky, heavy plate armor. Likewise, Felicia normally kept her hair bound tightly in a neat ponytail, partially concealed by her helmet's golden visor.

Felicia smiled, amused despite her annoyance. "I asked you a question, soldier," she reminded sternly.

"Y-Yes, of course! The Emperor is inside!" the first soldier blurted, straightening as if he had been slapped.

The second soldier hastened to unlock and open the door for her. "He is waiting for you, and instructed us to send you in when you arrived," he added quickly, doing his best to maintain his composure.

"Thank you," Felicia said tersely, as she stepped past the two guards.

She spotted Emperor Yashiro as soon as she entered the armory. The slender, violet-haired man stood on the far side of the room, staring silently at a weapons rack hanging on the wall. He didn't react, and gave no indication at all that he had noticed her entrance.

Behind her, the heavy door closed audibly behind Felicia. As soon as she saw that she was alone with the emperor, her expression softened noticeably, and she loosened her stiff posture. As she strode across the armory, any trace of the rigid, military gait in her step disappeared entirely.

"You sent for me, Emperor Yashiro?" Felicia asked politely, when she was standing only a few feet away from the sovereign.

"We're alone, Cia. There's no need to be so formal," Yashiro assured, turning to face her.

Felicia shook her head with feigned stubbornness. "It would be grossly inappropriate for a lowly general to treat the Apostle and Emperor with anything less than absolute respect," she said in a falsely reverent tone. Her ill-disguised sarcasm elicited a low groan from the emperor.

"Very funny," Yashiro said, rolling his eyes even as the corners of his lips quirked up into a slight smile. "How long are you planning to be this way, _General_ Felicia?" he asked, deliberately drawing out her title.

At his words, the general dipped into a deep bow. "For as long as I remain in service to the throne of Begnion, naturally," she answered solemnly. After several long seconds, she looked up to find the emperor staring at her, one eyebrow arched high. Unable to keep a straight face any longer, Felicia burst out laughing.

"You can be such a child sometimes," Yashiro said, though he, too, was laughing. "You know, I was beginning to worry that I had done something to annoy you again."

"Hmm... nope, nothing recent," Felicia replied brightly. She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around Yashiro, embracing him tightly. He reciprocated her affectionate gesture, but her expression grew worried. "You seem a bit tense, Shiro," she remarked.

"Can you blame me for that?" Yashiro asked, though his voice was muffled by her shoulder. "How's your arm?"

"What, this?" Felicia asked, pulling away and tugging at the long sleeve of her dress, revealing a cast binding her left arm. "I'm fine. I would have taken the cast off already, if it weren't for the healers insisting that I keep wearing it."

"I was hoping you'd say that," Yashiro said, nodding. "How would you like to get away from Sienne for a little while?"

"Oh? Are you offering me a vacation?" Felicia asked mischievously.

"Kilvas isn't so popular with tourists at the moment," Yashiro answered casually. "But I suppose it's better than Phoenicis, given the current political climate in those parts."

"Kilvas, eh? Sounds exciting. When do we leave?" Felicia replied cheerfully.

Yashiro groaned again. "Don't tease me like that," he grumbled. "Even Phoenicis can't be as bad as the senate floor right now."

"If you really hate it so much, why did you agree to come back?" Felicia teased.

"You're the one who suggested it!" Yashiro protested indignantly. Felicia already knew that, of course, and had burst out laughing again. In light of her amusement, Yashiro could only sigh helplessly.

"Sorry, Shiro," Felicia apologized hastily. She wrapped her fingers around his hand and squeezed softly. "You know that I'd rather we go together, right?"

"Of course," Yashiro said in a resigned tone.

"Will you be alright on your own?" Felicia asked.

"If only I were truly on my own," Yashiro said, shaking his head in disgust as he imagined the meetings he would soon be holding with his bureaucratic, self-serving senators. Suddenly, his expression brightened. "Maybe you could take some of the senators with you," he suggested hopefully.

"Why don't you just fry a few of them instead? It would be easier, and probably no more damaging to your reputation," Felicia answered dryly.

Yashiro glanced wistfully at a gilded spell tome bound in fine, richly dyed red leather lying in a glass display case on a nearby table. How many years had it been since he last used his old tome? "That's not such a bad idea," he murmured quietly.

"Yes, it is," Felicia said firmly. When Yashiro's gaze remain fixated on the spell tome, she reached out and cupped his face between her hands, forcibly turning him to face her. "So, is that why you summoned me here? You want me to travel to Kilvas?" she asked.

Yashiro nodded. "I spoke with old Nasir earlier today. The situation in Phoenicis has grown quite volatile. It's worse than anything we could have imagined, Cia. We have to do something about it, but it'll take me weeks to convince the senators of that. In fact, I still have to convince them to agree to our army marching to Daein's aid, and that's without any tangled alliances to worry about," Yashiro said in an exasperated tone.

"I imagine the senators would rather leave Phoenicis alone right now," Felicia said softly.

"I know, but if the senators get their way, who knows how long I'll be stuck here?" Yashiro said, shaking his head. Felicia could only nod, as they both knew the truth of the situation. Begnion's crown princess would be old enough to succeed Yashiro soon, but although Begnion allowed, and even favored, child emperors and empresses, it would be many years before Princess Mirai was capable of handling a crisis such as a politically unstable Phoenicis. "Besides, Strife needs our help. We'd be rather sorry friends to turn our backs on him now," Yashiro added.

"You're right," Felicia agreed readily. "To Kilvas it is, then. But why'd you summon me here, Shiro? Wouldn't it have been better to have this conversation openly, in the audience hall?"

"And pass up an opportunity to fuel the rumors surrounding the two of us?" Yashiro asked, smirking. Any mirth he found was short-lived, and his expression quickly turned sour. "Begnion hasn't changed one bit since I last stepped down from the throne. I appoint Begnion's first female general in nearly a century and a half, and naturally, all of the nobles immediately begin speculating that I have found myself a mistress."

"It's not _that_ far from the truth, is it?" Felicia pointed out innocently. "And all the times you've turned away young noblewomen trying to court you doesn't help your case, either. Maybe we should've just told them the truth when they first asked you to wear the crown again."

"Ignoring all the other complications that would arise, that would put you straight in their political circle. Would you really want that, even if it was only temporary?" Yashiro pointed out.

"Fair point," Felicia conceded, shaking her head.

"And besides, though I don't mind holding the throne for a few years until Mirai is ready to rule, I'd rather not complicate the lines of succession," Yashiro continued.

"Lines of succession?" Felicia asked, startled.

"You and Mirai have become rather close," Yashiro said in a leading tone. A knowing smile spread across his face.

Felicia fidgeted uneasily. "You're right," she admitted. "I know I said before that I didn't really want to have children, but I guess I've been warming up to the idea lately. You wouldn't mind, would you?"

"I wouldn't," Yashiro said, and his smile grew warm and reassuring. "But we would be better off waiting until we were away from Sienne, at least, wouldn't we? You've haven't been drinking your herbal teas lately."

"I haven't been drinking them since we arrived in Sienne," Felicia said, shaking her head. "I'm supposed to be single. I can't exactly just request it from the servants, you know." That thought brought her back to her original question. "So, why did you really want to meet here, Shiro?"

Yashiro turned back to the weapons rack hanging on the wall, and carefully lifted the serrated, curved blade displayed upon it. He also bent down to retrieve the empty sheath lying below the rack. Though neither the blade nor its sheath had been disturbed in many years, not a single speck of a dust clung to either of them. "You and I left our old equipment here when we first arrived in the palace," Yashiro reminded, as he offered the weapon to Felicia.

Her eyes lit up upon seeing her old sword, and she accepted her husband's offering with a grateful smile. She sheathed the blade without further inspection, knowing without a doubt that the ancient, indestructible weapon remained in perfect condition.

"Your tunic, too," Yashiro said, as he collected a cloth package from the nearby table, lying next to the display case holding his tome. He carefully unwrapped it, revealing a fine set of light armor stitched from padded cloth and soft leather.

"I was afraid you'd insist that I wear my plate armor in Kilvas," Felicia said delightedly, as she quickly examined her old belongings. "I don't think I'll ever get used to wearing a hundred pounds of metal while fighting." Then, to Yashiro's surprise, she began undressing.

"Cia!" Yashiro protested.

"You're the one reminded me we were alone," Felicia pointed out, as she exchanged the fine dress for her old traveling outfit. "It feels alright. How do I look?" she asked.

"Lovely, of course," Yashiro replied automatically, though he couldn't keep an impatient tone from creeping into his voice. "But what will my guards think when you leave in a different set of clothing?"

"Oh, right," Felicia said, frowning thoughtfully. Then she shrugged helplessly. "Maybe they won't notice. Besides, it's too late for me to change back. The healers were with me when your message arrived, and they were the ones who insisted I wear this dress. I don't think I could have put it on without their help."

Yashiro only shook his head helplessly and began to gather up the white silk dress, doing his best to fold it neatly before wrapping it up in the cloth that had held Felicia's old armor. "Here. Unless you plan to keep it, you should probably bring it back to the healers," he suggested, as he held the dress out to her.

"I'll drop it off on my way out," Felicia promised, accepting the package. "When do I leave?"

"You'll have to ask Nasir. He's supposed to be in the Silver Hall, along with the others who will be traveling to Kilvas," Yashiro answered. "Say hello to Strife for me, won't you?"

"Of course," Felicia agreed. She then set the package aside before embracing her husband once more, her lips brushing against his. "Promise me you'll take care of yourself," she whispered.

"I'm not the one marching straight into a civil war," Yashiro pointed out wryly. As Felicia opened her mouth to protest, he playfully clasped a hand over her lips. "I'll be fine, I promise," he assured.

Felicia pulled away and nodded, satisfied. "I'll be back soon," she promised, before making her way back to the armory door, the prospect of escaping the bureaucratic palace life adding a spring to her step.

Yashiro did his best to bite back his laughter as he watched her depart. Though his wife was older than she looked, she still seemed incredibly young at times.

Then again, given his own age, there were very few people in Tellius who didn't seem young to Begnion's former and present emperor.

* * *

"Is everyone ready?"

As he spoke, Robin turned to Chrom and his family. Chrom and Sumia nodded immediately. Cynthia only shrugged, looking both disappointed and resigned. Anna, who was standing nearby, was practically quivering with anticipation.

Cordelia, Severa, and Morgan waited a short distance away. The portal would only remain open for a few short minutes, and Robin had asked his family to stay, knowing that he would need help moving the rest of the goods he had requested through and clear of the portal.

"How much longer, Robin?" Cordelia asked.

"Twenty minutes, perhaps?" Robin guessed.

"Excellent. In that case, might I have a word with you, Robin?" an unfamiliar voice drifted out from a nearby copse of trees.

A slender man with dark hair was leaning against the tallest tree, armed folded in an unthreatening posture. He wore a plain, long-sleeved black shirt and dark brown breeches. He didn't seem to have any other belongings with him, save for a long knife in its sheath and a small leather bag, both bound to his cloth sash.

"Hey, it's you!" Anna exclaimed, recognizing the man immediately. Her expression then dipped into a frown. "Hold on! Were you just hiding so that you could follow us out here without paying me?" she accused.

The man straightened, then reached into his bag and retrieved a tiny cloth bag. With a careful flick of his wrist, he sent the pouch soaring through the air towards Anna, who caught it eagerly in both hands. "Nothing of the sort. I simply don't like large groups," he explained casually, before turning his expectant gaze back to Robin.

Robin eyed the man thoughtfully. It was odd that the stranger knew his name, but not too alarming, for he hadn't exactly been making an effort to keep his name secret. "I suppose," Robin agreed politely. "But could you first tell me your name?"

"Five hundred thousand," the man replied, drawing curious stares from all of those gathered around him.

"I remember thinking _your_ name sounded foreign, Robin," Chrom remarked with a faint smile.

"That's how much my name will cost you," the mysterious man clarified.

There was a long, awkward pause before Robin finally spoke up. "I'm sorry, but if your name alone will cost me half a million gold, I don't think I can afford a conversation with you," Robin said, hiding his annoyance.

"Or we could have our discussion without names instead," the man replied. "I trade in intelligence, and I've recently come across some information that you might find valuable."

"What kind of information?" Robin asked.

"About the Redeemers," the man said with a nonchalant shrug. "Details that the two former Redeemers among your company, waiting in the city, wouldn't know," he clarified, ignoring the startled and suspicious looks leveled in his direction.

"Then how would _you_ have come across some information?" Severa interrupted huffily, voicing everyone's doubts aloud.

"I am not, and have never, been associated with the Redeemers, if that is what you are asking," the man said, his expression making it clear that he had little more to say on the subject.

Morgan glanced at her father nervously. To say that the man's offer seemed suspicious would be quite an understatement, and there was something strangely unsettling about the mysterious man's presence. But despite her doubts, they were still fumbling in the dark when it came to the Redeemers and their subtle dealings. Any information could prove vital to their campaign.

Robin seemed to be thinking along the same lines already. "And what is the price of the information you are offering us?" he asked.

"A simple service that would cost you nothing. I would like to travel through this portal when you activate it once more," the man explained.

Robin rejected the notion almost immediately. Though the man appeared unassuming, like Morgan, Robin already had a sneaking feeling that this man was much more than he seemed. The thought of allowing a complete stranger to visit Ylisse, especially in such troubled times, was disconcerting to say the least. "I'm sorry," Robin apologized. "The portal isn't open to visitors yet."

"Not as a visitor," the man interrupted quickly. "A one-way trip, though you will never have to see me again afterwards, if that is your preference." He crossed his arms and leaned against the tree again, assuming a relaxed posture. "If you need time to consider my offer, I can wait. Can you?"

They couldn't wait, Robin knew, but neither could they afford to trust someone they had never met. Robin glanced at Morgan apologetically, knowing that any genuine information could potentially prove invaluable.

Morgan already understood, though, and shook her head slightly when she met her father's gaze.

Before Robin could say anything, a second unexpected visitor joined them by the portal.

"Well, this is a surprise. I wasn't expecting to see you again, Volke," Soren greeted coolly, eyeing the stranger. The two of them stared at each other for several seconds, sizing each other up.

"You know him?" Morgan blurted, the meaning of Soren's words registering at last.

"Yes," Soren answered simply.

"No," the man Soren had called Volke answered at the same time. "Or at least, I do not know you," he corrected himself, when Soren narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Perhaps you are mistaking me for someone else."

"You know about my… about Robin, and about the portal, and even about the Redeemers, but you haven't heard of Soren?" Morgan asked dubiously. Her eyes widened as she considered the other implications of Soren knowing their mysterious visitor. Though the man appeared to be Beorc, anyone that Soren knew in Tellius had to be at least five centuries old as well.

"You used to be a more convincing liar than this," Soren remarked dryly.

The mysterious man only shrugged. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you are talking about," he said, before rounding on Robin once more. "Do we have a deal, Robin?"

"Could we have a moment to discuss your offer in private?" Robin requested.

"Suit yourself," the man said with a shrug. "Just remember, if your earlier estimate was correct, you have only fifteen minutes left. I will need some time to give you your report, too." With that said, he turned and marched a short distance away.

* * *

As soon as the strange, dark-haired man was out of earshot, the rest of the gathering huddled together, most of the others alternating their curious glances between Robin and Soren.

Cynthia was the first to speak. "Who _is_ that guy?" she asked, her voice dripping with excitement. "Is he an old friend? Another Laguz? Half-Laguz? Or maybe…"

"Not right now, Cynthia," Robin interrupted quickly. "We don't have much time. Soren, he's offering to give us information about the Redeemers in exchange for us letting him use the portal. Do you think we can trust him?"

"Or the information he's offering us?" Morgan added.

Soren shrugged uncertainly. "As far as I can remember, he always dealt honestly with his employers, although the mere fact that he's alive means he's kept a few secrets to himself."

"Are you sure you know him, and that it's not someone who looks like your old friend?" Morgan asked hesitantly.

"I wouldn't call him a friend, but yes, I am certain that it's him," Soren said without the slightest trace of doubt. "As far as trust goes, he _is_ an assassin…"

"An assassin?" Sumia and Cynthia gasped together.

"Which makes it very unlikely that he'd pose any real threat," Soren continued, ignoring the interruption. "No one in Tellius has any reason to take out a contract on anyone in Ylisse."

"What if someone in Ylisse hires him?" Cynthia asked nervously.

"There are probably plenty of assassins available for hire in Ylisse right now," Morgan pointed out.

"True," Robin agreed thoughtfully. "What do you think, Chrom?" he asked, turning to his friend.

Chrom only shrugged helplessly.

Robin sighed, not particularly fond of either option. "Let's see what he has to say, then," he decided.

* * *

"Volke!" Robin called, wondering if the assassin would even respond to the name.

Upon hearing Robin, the assassin approached them once more. "Is that what you've decided to call me?"

"Unless you have another name you prefer I use, yes," Robin answered simply. "One that you don't expect me to pay you for," he added quickly.

The assassin shrugged. "Fine. 'Volke' it is, then. Do we have a deal?"

"Possibly. You said you don't intend to return to Tellius, right?" Robin asked. "We may not open the portal again for quite some time."

"I am aware, and no, I do not intend to return," Volke confirmed.

Convinced that Volke wouldn't pose much a threat in Ylisse beyond what that of any common sell sword or assassin, Robin had only one other concern. "We have a deal _if_ the information you promised is actually of value to us," he stipulated.

"Fair enough," Volke agreed. "Would you like me to give you my report now, in front of your companions?"

"Go ahead, and quickly," Robin urged.

"Starting with the Redeemers themselves, then," Volke began. "Three of their six generals, or Lodestars, as they call themselves, remain."

"We know," Severa interrupted impatiently. "Charon, Medea, and Relic."

"Much of Charon's past remains a mystery to me," Volke admitted. "Charon was the surname of one of Begnion's noble families. After a political feud, the family was disgraced and quickly forgotten. Their youngest son disappeared at the same time, and would be roughly the same age as the leader of the Redeemers. Charon's demeanor does point towards a noble upbringing, but he remains secluded and confides in no one, not even Medea or Relic."

"Given what happened between him and Tantalus, I'm not surprised," Soren remarked dryly. "Are you planning to tell us something useful, now?"

"Medea hails from Kisca, a small village in Daein," Volke continued. "She was orphaned as a child, and was raised in the town's church. She became a priestess at the age of eleven. Her devotion was immediately unparalleled, bordering upon fanaticism. That, coupled with her arrogance, left her with few friends, even among her fellow priests and priestesses or her fellow orphans. She did not care, and spent most of her time alone until the age of sixteen, when she met a young nobleman who was immediately smitten with her. She abandoned her faith and home behind to start a new life with him. Six months later, the young noble's remains were discovered in bed, along with the corpse of another lover. Medea disappeared, along with much of her late husband's wealth. She resurfaced as a spirit charmer and Redeemer. She is not popular among the common soldiers of her organization, who find her arrogance and nihilism insufferable."

"I guess they're just too scared to argue with her," Morgan said, as she remembered how Tantalus had first described Medea to her and Soren. It seemed as if Harmony had always hated Medea, too. Silently, Morgan wondered whether Medea had any friends among the Redeemers. Perhaps Charon and Relic also hated her, and only tolerated her for her usefulness to them.

"Pretty much," Volke agreed. "The last of the remaining leaders is Relic, or, to use his full name, Tormod al'Relic. You recognize the name, of course," he said, directing the last comment directly towards Soren.

Soren nodded briefly. "Named after one of the Radiant Hero's companions?" he guessed.

"His ancestor," Volke said. "Though not separated by as many generations as you'd imagine."

"You mean he's branded," Morgan interpreted.

Volke shook his head quickly. "No, which is precisely what led to him becoming the spirit charmer you know. The original Tormod is often remembered, not as a former companion as the Radiant Hero, but as a vigilante. Some consider him a folk hero, though many label him as a rogue and criminal," Volke said. "After Ashera's defeat, when the gradual steps taken towards unifying the Beorc and the Laguz met with resistance, Tormod distanced himself from most of his former companions. He joined with what remained of the Laguz Emancipation Army, and they spent many years aggressively quelling any violence directed towards the Laguz. In his travels, he reunited with another of the Radiant Hero's companions, a fiery young Gallian woman. Despite the reputation she had earned for her dislike of the Beorc, she was impressed with Tormod's zeal, and left her homeland to join Tormod's cause. Eventually, the two were married, and, rare for bloodlines of mixed heritage, most of their descendants have borne the brand.

"Upon seeing her child born without the brand, Tormod al'Relic's mother named him after their infamous Beorc ancestor. Neither the lack of a brand, nor the stories that cast his namesake in a negative light bothered him as a child. He was an idealistic youth who was determined to live up to the name he had been given. Unfortunately, he had barely reached adulthood when a wildfire destroyed his village, killing his immediate family," Volke continued dispassionately. "He began to believe that the world itself had conspired against him, first in dooming him to the shorter lifespan of a Beorc, and then by destroying those that he held dear. Still, his idealism remained intact, and he shed his name and past when he became a spirit charmer, searching for the power to realize his dream of making the world a better place."

"If he wants to make the world a better place, why would he join with people trying to destroy the world?" Severa asked doubtfully.

This time, it was Soren who answered her question. "Tantalus told us that the Redeemers' original purpose _was_ to use their power to better the world," he said.

"Though Relic might be the only one of their leaders who ever actually believed in that purpose," Morgan observed. "It sounds like Medea's only out to hurt other people because she was hurt, once. Tantalus was just hungry for power."

"Harmony only stuck around because she had nowhere else to go, and according to her, Symphony was mostly trying to please Tantalus, who he saw as an adoptive father," Lucina added.

"I wonder what Charon's after," Morgan said thoughtfully.

"The only person who'd be able to answer that is Charon himself," Volke said with a shrug. "Maybe you can ask him yourself one day."

"Is that all you had for us, then?" Robin asked. Truthfully, it was more information than he had expected to begin with, though he wasn't quite sure how they'd put the new knowledge to use yet.

"Almost," Volke replied. "There's just two more things. Firstly, as you have probably suspected already, the Redeemers inspired the violent coup in Phoenicis. They are in full support of the rebels, who are led by a hawk Laguz named Lister. I am not certain what the Redeemers hope to gain from this war, but they have offered both resources and reinforcements to Lister and his Laguz supporters."

"Lister," Morgan echoed, committing the name to memory.

"Secondly, Charon has dispatched several soldiers and lesser commanders to northern Gallia, purportedly for reconnaissance. I suspect Charon has another reason for wanting additional soldiers in that region, though if I am right, his true purpose remains a secret to those soldiers, and even to both Medea and Relic." Volke added.

Robin waited silently for a few seconds, in case the assassin had anything else to say. "Alright. Thank you, Volke. The portal will be ready any minute now."

Volke nodded acceptingly, but before he could say any anything, the sound of shattering stone rent the air. Everyone gathered near the portal turned instinctively to watch as the stone fragments spread outward and the portal came to life.

Robin was quick to intercept Chrom, who had already started for the portal. "Wait," Robin instructed, as a faint shadow appeared in the portal's watery surface.


	7. Chapter 4

**~ Chapter 4 ~**

A pearly white horn pierced the portal's surface, and to Severa and Morgan's delight, their majestic Pegasus gracefully stepped through the portal with her wings folded neatly behind her.

Lissa was the next to step through the portal, following only a few steps behind Catria. In one hand, she held the reins of a pair of oxen. In the other, she clutched the younger Severa's hand tightly, who, in turn, was holding her youngest sister's hand.

Little Morgan's face lit up as soon as she saw the rest of her family standing before her, and she tore herself free of her older sister's grip as she sprinted forward, practically tumbling down the stone steps.

"Morgan!" Robin and Cordelia cried out in alarm, even as the older Morgan rushed forward to catch the excited toddler.

As both Morgans moved clear of the portal, with the younger Severa following close behind, a large wooden cart appeared, dragged along by the oxen.

"That's… a lot of stuff," Robin observed weakly, as he hastened to help Lissa guide the oxen carefully down the shallow stone steps, which were thankfully wide enough to accommodate them.

"You're the one who asked for all of this," Lissa reminded, sounding indignant.

"This much?" Robin mused. Silently, he began trying to estimate how much space he would need to store all of the goods Lissa had brought through the portal. He gave up when the oxen finished pulling the cart entirely clear of the portal. "Oh well. Thanks, Lissa. Go ahead, Chrom."

"See you soon," Chrom said with a nod. He then turned to Lucina. "Be careful, Lucina."

"I will, Father," she promised, as she accepted her mother's embrace.

Chrom made for the portal once more, with Sumia and Cynthia following close behind. Just before she stepped through it, Cynthia turned back to spare Tellius one, final regretful look.

"Anna, Volke," Robin prompted, gesturing towards the portal as he helped Lissa unhitch the oxen from the wagon.

"You _will_ be in touch, right?" Lissa asked Robin as Anna and Volke disappeared into the portal too.

"I will," Robin promised. "Quickly, Lissa, before the portal closes."

The princess nodded, then led the two oxen back up the steps and through the portal once more, back to Ylisse. Those who remained watched silently for several seconds, until at last, the portal faded away and the fragments of the stone ring recombined once more.

* * *

"Here we are," Felicia said brightly, as she tugged open the door to a large conference room within the Begnion palace. "We won't be disturbed in here. Are you sure this can't wait until morning, though?"

"The sooner we sort out our plans, the better," Robin replied absently, leading the way into the conference room. Both Morgans filed in after him, with the older Morgan still holding her younger self's hand tightly. They were followed by Lucina, Soren, Harmony, Celera, and Nasir, before Felicia herself stepped into the room, closing the heavy, soundproof door behind her.

Except for the two Morgans, they seated themselves around the large, circular table in the center of the sparsely furnished room. Morgan drew a chair back for her younger self first, but the little girl instead tugged at her hand, leading her to a bench against the wall instead. With a shrug, Morgan obediently settled down on the bench, where the younger Morgan could sit right beside her.

"She looks tired," Lucina observed.

The toddler shook her head violently. "I'm not tired," she protested unconvincingly, unable to hide the drowsy look in her eyes.

"It's alright, this shouldn't take too long," Robin assured. "Morgan, are you setting off for Kilvas tomorrow?"

"First thing in the morning," Morgan confirmed with a nod. "Nasir, General Felicia, will both of you be coming with us?"

"If you don't mind," Nasir answered.

"Please, just call me Felicia," Felicia insisted. "And yes, Emperor Yashiro asked me to accompany you to Kilvas."

Morgan glanced questioningly at her father.

"We have plenty of warp powder now," Robin said, answering her unspoken question. "What about everyone else, Morgan?"

"I don't think anyone's staying behind," Morgan replied. "Owain's still in hiding, but I'm pretty sure he'll turn up before we leave."

"Actually, Iris might not be coming with us," Lucina corrected. "Uncle Robin, Iris asked me to ask you if you'd be willing to teach her how to use tomes properly. She was able to use the tome Morgan lent her during our last battle, but not very well."

"That would be for the best," Soren said bluntly. "If she can't fight, bringing her to the frontlines would only put her and anyone trying to protect her in danger."

"I can try to teach her," Robin agreed hesitantly. "Though I might be pretty busy. I was hoping to find some weapons we could use against the eidolons, and Chrom will probably want me to help him plan their battle in Ylisse, too."

"If Robin doesn't have time to tutor you friend, maybe we could find someone here in the palace to help her," Felicia offered. "Archmage Actaeus, maybe, or another one of the sages in Emperor Yashiro's court."

"That could work," Robin agreed. "I suppose Iris is staying here with me, then. We'll work out the rest of the details with the emperor later. The next question is, what is our plan in Kilvas?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Celera said. "Those wretched traitors turned against the rightful king and chased him and his supporters from their home. Now they're spreading lies about my brother, too. We're going to tear them apart and reclaim our home."

"Are we planning to play straight into the Redeemers' plans at every turn? If so, let me know now so that I can abandon this hopeless campaign," Soren remarked snidely.

Celera glowered at him angrily. "I don't care what the cowardly Beorc in the shadows are planning, it won't work. Enough of our people are loyal to Strife. We'll just crush the rebels outright and be done with this nonsense!" she insisted.

"Celera, it won't be that easy," Morgan interrupted quickly, before Soren could launch his own angry retort.

"The Redeemers incited this war to fuel the Fire Emblem, right?" Lucina said. "I'm sure you're right about King Phoenicis and his followers being strong enough to prevail over the rebels, but the Redeemers are going to try to drag out this battle as long as possible."

"Which is all the more reason for us to end the war quickly," Celera argued.

"If it's possible, yes," Morgan agreed. "We definitely need to end the war quickly, but until we have a better idea of what's happening in Phoenicis and Kilvas, we will have to tread lightly. If we attack the rebels directly, and they find unexpected reinforcements, it could cripple King Phoenicis' army."

Celera slumped back in her seat unhappily. "So if we can't attack them, what _can_ we do?" she complained.

"It depends on the situation you find upon your arrival. We're just laying out our options right now," Robin explained. "If King Phoenicis' forces are strong enough, the presence of representatives from Begnion and Goldoa alone may be enough to dissuade the rebels from pressing their attack," Robin said with a slight gesture towards Felicia and Nasir. "That may be enough to arrange for a ceasefire and postpone the fighting, if we cannot be confident that a direct attack would be successful."

"We will not surrender to those traitors!" Celera protested furiously.

"A ceasefire is different from surrender," Nasir said gently, hoping to calm the frustrated hawk.

"A ceasefire will also likely prove impossible," Soren predicted grimly. "This war is a matter of pride for both sides. I suspect that King Phoenicis' followers would be just as dismayed as Celera with the prospect of a ceasefire, and that nothing short of surrendering the entire country would placate the rebellion's leaders, anyways."

"Lister," Morgan thought aloud, remembering the name that the mysterious assassin had given them.

"Lister? What does he have to do with any of this?" Celera demanded, blanching visibly.

"We met with an informant earlier who indicated that a hawk Laguz named Lister is leading the rebellion in Phoenicis. Have you heard of him?" Soren asked.

Celera swallowed and nodded. "Yes. Lister's father, Aeolus, was my father's steward and friend long before either my brother or I was born. Aeolus hated the ravens, and opposed the unification of our tribes. He resigned his post in protest when my father chose to marry a raven woman."

"I knew Aeolus," Nasir added. "He was the cornerstone of much of the civil unrest concerning King Phoenicis' coronation, until he passed away a few decades ago. After his passing, those who shared his jaded views allegedly rallied around his son instead."

"Lister is just like his father," Celera said, shaking her head with disgust. "But I never imagined he'd ever do more than sulk in his nest and complain."

"How many supporters did Lister have?" Morgan asked.

"Not many. Even though my father's decision to pass the throne to Strife came as a surprise, most of our people accepted it without question," Celera said. "After that, it didn't take long for Strife to win over almost all of those who mistrusted him initially."

"In that case, maybe our first goal should be to learn what became of Prince Valent," Morgan suggested. "If Lister didn't have many followers to begin with, then many of those fighting for him now are probably only doing so because of the rumors of Prince Valent leading them."

"If we can show them that their prince was slain by Lister, then the rebellion may simply crumble on its own," Soren added bluntly.

"Prince Valent is probably still alive," Morgan said reassuringly, mostly for Celera's benefit.

"Morgan is right. Lister has no legitimate claim to the throne. Any credibility he has recently discovered will be forfeit if he tries to seize the crown for himself," Nasir agreed. "He needs Valent, though how Lister plans to manipulate the prince is beyond me. The boy is as stubborn as his father."

"Then we should be able to end the war by rescuing Celera's brother, right?" Lucina suggested.

"If we confirm that the prince is alive and learn where he is being held, yes," Soren said cautiously. "But until then, our immediate goal should be to protect King Phoenicis and his people. If they are trying to break the siege upon Kilvas, we may be able to help with that. Or maybe the war has already taken a turn for the worst, and our best choice will be to help them find an escape."

"I think, no matter what, we should count on at least one major battle against the rebels," Morgan said thoughtfully. Only then did she realize that even counting Celera, Ulki, Nasir, and Felicia, their entire group numbered only twelve.

Soren had evidently reached the same conclusion already. "We're not bringing them an army, Morgan. There isn't too much we can do to prepare. We could find a wind tome for Harmony, and maybe find a few Pegasi, but even that is superfluous. A handful of fighters won't have a significant impact on a battle fought between thousands of Laguz."

"Maybe not, but we can try," Morgan said, shrugging helplessly.

"I can pick up a few extra tomes from the barracks before we leave," Felicia volunteered. "Though I don't know if we can simply borrow a Pegasus."

"It usually takes time and training for a Pegasus to bond with a new rider," Lucina said.

"Usually," Robin muttered darkly, so quietly that only Morgan overhead. She shot him a questioning look, but Robin only shook his head and pressed on, not wanting to be sidetracked. "Cordelia has her Pegasus, and Severa and Morgan have theirs, too. That's likely the best we can do as far as air support goes. I still have two spare magic-resistant cloaks, if you think they may help."

"That would be very unlikely. Laguz generally do not rely on magic," Nasir said, shaking his head.

"The tomes and the Pegasus will suffice," Soren said.

"We can use warp powder to retrieve anything else we're missing, right?" Morgan added. "Though we should probably bring plenty of extra warp powder with us, just in case."

"We have plenty of warp powder now," Robin said. "I'll prepare some more, too, so you can bring most of what we have with you. Will that be everything?" He waited several seconds, and when no one offered any other suggestions, he nodded, satisfied. "You should all go find some rest. I'll have everything waiting for you all in the courtyard first thing tomorrow."

"I'll drop by the barracks and pick up the tomes before meeting you there," Felicia promised.

With that, everyone rose to leave, save for Morgan. As the rest of the gathering began dispersing, Morgan nudged her younger twin, who was peacefully asleep and curled up against her side. When little Morgan didn't stir, the older Morgan shot her father a pleading look.

With a knowing glint in his eyes, Robin gingerly scooped up his youngest daughter before departing, with Morgan following close behind. "Thanks," he whispered to Soren, who had noticed their predicament and was holding the door silently for them.

Soren only barely acknowledged his words with a stiff nod, before gently closing the door to the now-deserted conference room and setting off in the opposite direction.

* * *

It wasn't until several minutes later, when they reached the rooms the emperor had set aside for them, that Morgan remembered the question she had for her father. "Dad? What was that you were saying earlier? You know, about the Pegasi?" she asked curiously.

Robin looked at her, confused, until he remembered the off-hand comment that she was referring to. "Oh, that. A few weeks ago, I was having trouble getting in touch with Severa. Your mother suggested taking a short vacation and flying down to the southern coast, insisting that it would help me clear my head, but Catria refused to fly with me holding the reins."

"Oh, right," Morgan said, suddenly remembering that Severa had asked their mother about it during their flight to Sienne. "So, what happened?"

"Well, before I could suggest giving up on the idea, little Morgan insisted that we let her try. It actually worked... sort of," Robin said with a crooked grin. "It was a bit nerve-wracking, since she pays even less attention while flying than you do. I guess it didn't really matter, though, since Catria was just following your mother and little Severa while little Morgan played with the reins."

As Robin opened the door to the room where he and Cordelia were staying, the younger Morgan began stirring and fidgeted uncomfortably, issuing a soft, indecipherable noise of protest.

"Oh? I thought you were asleep," Robin said slyly. Caught red-handed, the little girl only giggled sheepishly.

"Did you want to stay with Severa and me?" Morgan guessed. The younger Morgan nodded eagerly. "Do you mind, Dad?"

"Of course not, as long as you both get some sleep," Robin said, yawning. "You and Severa have a long day ahead of you."

* * *

Strife and Tibarn drifted alone in the cool, morning breeze, their large wings keeping them suspended over Kilvas as the island came awake under dawn's first light. Castle Kilvas stood prominently below them, stalwart and silent, though Strife knew his bodyguards waiting below were be vigilant, and would be quickly at his side if he needed them.

"You should relax," Strife suggested coolly, when he noticed Tibarn twitching nervously.

Tibarn only stared at him incredulously, eliciting a low chuckle from the young, deposed monarch.

"They won't attack. Not now," Strife said confidently, as he surveyed the distant specks circling Kilvas that he knew to be Phoenician soldiers.

Soldiers who had pledged their allegiance to the rightful king of Phoenicis, so said the rumors.

"Hah! I'd love to see those two-faced pigeons try!" Tibarn said with a roguish grin as he flexed his arms. Despite his advanced age, his sturdy frame bulged beneath his baggy clothing, and neither the slight wrinkles creasing his face nor his whitened hair could detract from his suddenly fearsome appearance. His bluster faded quickly, though. "That's not what I'm worried about," Tibarn admitted. "You remember what the messenger said, don't you?"

"That 'King' Valent would like to meet with us alone?" Strife asked, unconcerned. "We both know that Valent wouldn't stand behind this nonsense. I wonder who they'll try to pass off as Valent's representative. It may give us some idea as to who's behind this nasty bit of business."

"What if it really is Valent?" Tibarn asked, in an uncharacteristically nervous tone.

"Then that would be a considerable weight off my chest," Strife said, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a lone hawk soaring slowly towards them. "There's been no sign of him since the coup in Phoenicis Hall. I've begun to fear the worst."

Tibarn did not answer, and instead stared silently as the approaching hawk slowly drew closer. The former king's expression grew stormy as he recognized the familiar silhouette of his firstborn son, and when the hawk shifted back into his human shape, there could be no mistake.

"Interesting," Strife mused quietly, hiding his surprise as Tibarn gasped aloud.

* * *

Light enveloped Morgan, blinding her to the world around her.

Then a chorus of startled cries rang out around her, and in her weakened state, the cacophony only scrambled her senses further, and the ground itself seemed to tremble beneath her feet.

Finally, as the last wisps of light from the warp powder rifts faded away, Morgan found herself crouched on the dark stone tiles of Castle Kilvas's entry hall. Her mother and sister were beside her, as were their two Pegasi. Lucina was standing on Severa's other side, though she wavered a bit as she tried to resist the debilitating effects of the warp powder. "We're friends!" Morgan blurted quickly as she spotted the Laguz guards surrounding them. Then, with great effort, she forced herself to her feet and took a quick headcount of her companions, hoping that everyone had arrived safely.

"Celera? Is that you?" a beautiful, slender woman with long blond hair and white feathered wings asked.

"Hey, Belle," Celera managed weakly, her wings flapping feebly as she tried futilely to take wing.

"Welcome home, Nighthawk," greeted a raven Laguz. "You too, Ulki," he added as he spotted the old hawk. He then frowned slightly as he noticed their apparent distress. "You don't look well."

"We're fine, Tarn," Ulki rumbled quietly.

"We used warp powder to get here quickly," Morgan tried to explain. "But it weakens anyone who uses it."

"They're here to help us," Celera explained quickly, when the Laguz guards surrounding them stared at her curiously. "Where's Strife?"

"He's with your father," Belle said uneasily. "The rebels claim that Valent himself asked to meet with Strife."

"He's alive, then?" Celera asked, unable to hide her relief.

"Strife thinks so," Belle replied. "But he also thinks the rebels are bluffing, and that it won't be Valent meeting with…"

"General! Lady Belle! It's him!" came a soldier's voice from the upper floor, where an open balcony extended outward.

Without another word, Belle spun and spread her wings, launching herself into the air with a graceful leap and soaring up to the second floor. Tarn did the same a second later, as did most of the other guards. The return of Celera and Ulki had apparently put any doubts they harbored about their visitors to rest.

Morgan, not wanting to be left out, put her fatigue behind her as she rushed for the spiral staircase curving along the edge of the room.

* * *

"Strife!" Valent called, as he swiftly closed the remaining distance, coming to a rest less than twenty feet away from where Strife and Tibarn were waiting.

"Valent," Strife said, returning the greeting cautiously. Something about his friend's demeanor seemed odd, though the raven king was unable to place it immediately.

Valent's expression darkened slightly, and he flashed Strife a wicked grin. " _King_ Valent," he corrected firmly.

Tibarn gaped at Valent disbelieving, and seemed to be at a complete loss for words.

"What's going on here, Valent?" Strife asked calmly, as he stared at the hawk before him calculatingly.

"Isn't it obvious?" Valent asked gloatingly. "I'm taking back what belongs to me. Phoenicis and its throne are my birthright, you wretched crow."

"What has gotten into you, Valent?" Tibarn cried angrily, finding his voice at last.

"Tibarn!" Strife tried to interrupt, silently wishing that he had approached this meeting alone. The truth was easily discerned, for though the imposter's disguise was a perfect match to the real Valent's appearance, the fake Valent's mannerisms and expressions all seemed completely out of place.

Valent simply ignored Strife though, and rallied against Tibarn's words immediately, turning his vicious stare upon the former king. "What's gotten into _me_?" Valent laughed cruelly. "You're the one who turned your back upon your tribe decades ago! Your talons have grown blunt, Father. Look how far you've fallen! To allow a mere raven to rise above the former king of hawks, the king of all the bird tribes!"

"As I recall…" Strife began dryly, hoping to remind the fake Valent that the crown had been passed to him legitimately. In fact, the crown had been passed with both Valent and Celera's approval, further reinforcing Strife's knowledge that an imposter stood before them.

But before he could finish his sentence, Tibarn's eyes flashed with unbridled rage. "Silence!" he roared, the end of the word trailing into a harsh screech as he transformed into a hawk. He barreled forth, seizing his son's imposter tightly in his razor sharp talons. "How blunt do you find my talons now?" Tibarn growled viciously.

Valent only smiled, a mocking expression that incensed the former king further.

"What have you done with my son!?" Tibarn demanded, tightening his grip, causing Valent to wince in pain.

Suddenly, Valent, too, transformed, and Tibarn lost his grip on the other hawk. With a screech, Valent darted forward, slamming into the older hawk and knocking him aside.

"Stop!" Strife ordered, shifting into his raven shape before trying to intercede.

But he was too late. Already, Tibarn had tried to retaliate, battering the false Valent with his wings. The younger hawk simply brushed the attack aside before snapping his beak forward, tearing into the older hawk's wings. Blood sprayed from the wound as the younger hawk clasped the older hawk's talons tightly, pinning him and holding him aloft.

"Just look at how far you've fallen already, _Tibarn_ ," Valent hissed gleefully. "Your final descent will be nothing compared to that!" Just as Strife reached them, Valent pushed off, hard, and spun, tearing at Tibarn's other wing for good measure. With his wings crippled, Tibarn could do nothing but plummet down towards the island below, reverting to his human form as he fell.

"Tibarn!" Strife cried, diving towards the falling hawk.

A mysterious blue light appeared, enveloping Tibarn, who only just managed a surprised look before being whisked away.

Brown feathers slowly drifted downwards around Strife as he stared at the empty air before him.

* * *

"Morgan!" Cordelia and Severa cried out together, as Morgan crumpled to the ground. Her rescue staff clattered loudly as it fell from her grip and came to a rest beside Tibarn's bruised and battered form. Celera and Ulki quickly rushed to the fallen hawk's side.

"I'm f-fine," Morgan stammered weakly, trying to hide her surprise. She hadn't actually expected her desperate attempt at magic to work so soon after using warp powder.

With a groan, Tibarn forced himself to his feet, ignoring his daughter and loyal friend to glower at Morgan. The young tactician shrank back nervously as the old hawk glared at her, and Severa moved forward protectively, but Soren interceded before anyone else could speak.

"My apologies, Morgan. I should have warned you that hawks don't properly appreciate magic, even when it's used to save their lives," Soren said sarcastically, drawing Tibarn's ire to him.

"What!?" Tibarn protested indignantly.

"Not to mention the fact that some hawks apparently believe they can fly through willpower and bluster alone, despite having their wings crippled," Soren continued smoothly. "Perhaps you should apologize for whisking Tibarn away from a fight that he was 'winning'."

Tibarn glared at the impudent mage for several long seconds. Then, to Morgan's surprise, the old hawk let out a hearty gale of laughter. "Old Kurth did mention you were back. It's good to see you again, Soren. Your tongue's only grown sharper over the centuries."

"Back for now, but I won't be staying for long if that's how you intend to thank those who come to your aid," Soren said with a meaningful, sidelong glance toward Morgan.

Tibarn had the decency to adopt a sheepish expression as he turned to Morgan again. "Sorry," he apologized quickly. "And thanks," he added, before turning and looking up toward where Strife and the false Valent still waited.

* * *

"Looks like I was wrong. The old man _did_ find a way to fall even further. Cavorting with Beorc sorcerers?" the imposter Valent laughed derisively as he reverted to his human shape.

Strife reverted his transformation as well, and took a deep breath, calming his nerves. The intercession of a Beorc mage was unexpected, but wholly welcomed. He spotted a few of his loyal soldiers flying towards him, but they had stopped when the fighting had, and remained out of earshot, thankfully.

"Not that I'm complaining, but why the charade?" Strife asked casually, not bothering to turn to face the imposter. "You and I both know you're a fraud. There's no sense in feigning righteous indignation with me now."

"A fraud, am I?" the hawk asked, grinning broadly.

"You're better off dropping the ridiculous act and stating plainly whatever it is you hope to achieve," Strife continued as if the impersonator hadn't spoken. "Otherwise, we are both only wasting time."

"You should cherish what time you have left," the imposter taunted.

"Fine. This conversation is at an end, then. Remove yourself from Kilvas at once," Strife ordered, as he casually began his descent towards Castle Kilvas.

As he predicted, the false Valent caved in first. "You have until daybreak!" the hawk spat.

Strife turned, motioning for the imposter to continue.

"You have until tomorrow's first light to surrender yourself and the crown to me, else I simply take what belongs to me," the hawk said, grinning cruelly.

"Interesting proposition. I'll have to think it over," Strife said wryly, shaking his head. "Is Valent alive? The _real_ Valent, not this shoddy imitation you've managed to bring before me today."

"Not impressed, are you?" the hawk laughed. "Valent's still alive… for now. I'm still hoping he'll come around one day."

"Good luck with that," Strife said, chuckling.

"Well, if he doesn't, this will have to do, won't it?" the hawk said, gesturing at himself.

Again, Strife wondered where the rebels had found such a perfect double for his friend.

"Tomorrow!" the hawk repeated himself, before turning and gliding off in the direction of Phoenicis.

Asides from the rhythmic beating of his wings, Strife stayed perfectly still, watching the hawk depart as he wondered what had become of his dear friend.

* * *

Strife glided down towards Castle Kilvas tiredly, wondering what had happened to Tibarn, when a familiar voice stirred him from his thoughts.

"Strife!" Celera cried out from below, waving to him excitedly.

"Welcome back, Nighthawk," Strife said as he landed, managing a smile when he saw the group gathered on the balcony, including Tibarn. "Are you alright, Tibarn?"

"Of course," Tibarn said, grinning broadly despite his injuries. "Tell me you tore that fake apart."

"Fake?" Celera asked at once.

Strife nodded. "That wasn't the real Valent. I'm sure of that much, at least, though how they managed such a perfect imitation is beyond my ken," he said.

"Tantalus's illusionary cloak," Harmony guessed, and Lucina, Severa, and Owain's eyes all lit up in recognition. "Tantalus enchanted two cloaks for the Redeemers that can change their wearers' physical appearance and voice," she explained, when Strife looked at her questioningly. "I destroyed one back on Dragonflame Isle, but the Redeemers still had one more."

"A Beorc is trying to pass himself off as Valent?" Tarn asked, disgusted.

Harmony quickly shook her head. "The cloak can change one's appearance, but any physical changes are minor at best. A Beorc could give himself talons and wings, and make himself look bulkier, but it wouldn't actually make him much stronger, nor would it allow him to fly," she said.

"Well, that's ironic, given his accusations of us 'cavorting with Beorc sorcerers'," Strife said with a grim chuckle, before surveying each of his visitors in turn. "It's been a while, hasn't it, Nasir? You too, Felicia. King Goldoa told us to expect visitors, but he didn't mention that you'd be among them."

"He didn't know I'd be tagging along," Felicia said. "Emperor Yashiro only asked me to come here after we heard the full story from Nasir."

"I am sorry to see the state of things here. We have all come to offer whatever help we can in restoring order to Phoenicis," Nasir said, bowing gracefully. The others nodded their agreement, save for Soren, who stood perfectly still, gazing past the raven king and out towards the rest of the somber island.

"I thank you for your kind offers. Welcome to Kilvas," Strife said with a warm smile, though his expression quickly grew serious. "Time grows short. The rebels claim that they will attack at dawn tomorrow if I have not surrendered by then. We will have to ready our defenses."

"What do you want us to do?" Celera asked immediately.

"Nothing right now," Strife said. "It looks like your journey here took quite a toll on you. Once we've laid plans for the battle tomorrow, we can find a place in them for anyone else who wants to fight beside us."

"Maybe Soren and I can help you with your plans," Morgan offered. She glanced at Soren as she spoke, hoping that the branded mage wouldn't object to being volunteered.

"If you'd like to. Another perspective can't hurt," Strife agreed. "Come along, then," he said, as he led the way deeper into the castle.

* * *

The first thing Morgan noticed when she was settled in the war room was that not all the marks on the map Strife laid out resembled birds. "Umm… what are these?" Morgan asked hesitantly, as she pointed out a few dragon-like markings stationed around Phoenicis.

Strife let out a low chuckle. "Spotted them already, have you? I know wyverns are supposed to be nearly extinct, but my scouts are certain. The rebels have been reinforced by a battalion of Beorc wyvern riders, armed with crossbows."

Confused, Morgan snuck a peek at Soren, and then at Severa and Lucina who had insisted upon remaining with her. Soren looked as impassive as ever, but Severa and Lucina both looked as bewildered as she was.

"Wyverns are nearly extinct?" Lucina asked, echoing Morgan's immediate thoughts aloud.

"Well, yeah. Ever since the epidemic nearly wiped out all of Begnion's wyverns about five decades ago," Celera, who was sitting beside Strife and Belle, answered. "They even released their healthy wyverns into the wild, far away from Begnion, but the plague only spread further and killed most of them off, too."

"Have you ever heard of the Wyverns' Crag? It's a rocky island chain north of Crimea," Belle added. "Some say that the surviving wyverns live there, now."

"While this is all very fascinating, I don't think it matters _where_ the Redeemers found their wyverns, only that they have them," Soren pointed out meaningfully, speaking up for the first time since Strife landed on the balcony earlier. He then gestured toward some markings that resembled bows. "King Phoenicis, are these ballistae?"

"I'm afraid so," Strife confirmed grimly. "It's why our scouts were unable to bring any information as to our enemies' positions behind Phoenicis' perimeter."

"Do they have warships? Or are the ballistae grounded?" Soren asked.

"Grounded, thankfully, at least for now. We won't have to worry about the ballistae, but the wyvern riders will likely join in the attack," Strife replied.

"Which is a problem, since your army isn't well-equipped for battling wyverns _or_ crossbowmen," Soren said thoughtfully.

"This doesn't make any sense," Morgan said quietly, as she counted up the tally marks on the map of Kilvas. "Even with the wyverns, it looks like your soldiers outnumber the Phoenicians at least three to one."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Severa asked, puzzled.

"It means they must have another plans," Strife guessed. "Only someone exceptionally stupid or arrogant would commit to such an attack."

"That sounds like Lister," Celera chimed in.

"If he's the one behind this all. We've discussed that possibility," Strife said.

"Our informant in Begnion told us that Lister was the one responsible," Morgan confirmed.

"It fits," Strife agreed. "If the Redeemers were looking for someone to manipulate, Lister would have been the perfect candidate. Discontented, reckless, and arrogant, yet charismatic enough to attract a following of his own."

"I don't think the Redeemers mean for Lister to win tomorrow's battle," Morgan said, as she continued examining the map. "They just want this war to drag out, and for both sides to suffer as many casualties as possible."

"You're right, Morgan," Soren agreed. "We'll have a strong advantage if the rebels press the attack without further reinforcements or some way to advance their ballistae, but Kilvas's soldiers will still sustain heavy losses due to the wyverns."

"But… we'll still win, right?" Celera asked, worried.

"Probably, but the surviving rebels will just retreat behind their ballistae line, and if we sustain too many losses tomorrow, it will be difficult to retake Phoenicis," Morgan said, shaking her head. "Besides, if the real Prince Valent is still alive, then we wouldn't be able to attack Phoenicis anyways."

"Valent would insist that we attack anyways if he had any say in the matter," Celera pointed out.

"Then I'm glad he does not. Incidentally, if the imposter can be trusted, Valent is still alive," Strife said.

Morgan frowned, choosing to keep her doubts silent. They had no reason to believe the imposter's words, but since they didn't have time to make a rescue attempt right now anyways, there was no reason to worry Celera further.

Or maybe it wasn't as irrelevant as it seemed, Morgan realized all of a sudden, as another possibility occurred to her. She began studying the map intently once more, this time focusing on the positions of the ballistae, and didn't even notice as Soren and Strife began discussing how and where to position Kilvas's forces.

"Do you have any mages living in Kilvas? Beorc, or even branded?" Soren asked. "Some more magical firepower could make a big difference against the wyverns, and we brought plenty of spare tomes with us."

"Not since Yashiro returned to Begnion to take up the crown a few years ago," Strife said, shaking his head.

"Lehran knows how to use tomes," Belle suggested.

"Supposedly. I've never seen him use one before, though," Strife cautioned.

"That's right, Micaiah mentioned that Lehran was still around," Soren mused. "If he's willing to help, that makes three of us. Four, if we're counting Harmony."

"Can he fly?" Morgan interrupted suddenly.

"Lehran? Yes, though he can no longer transform. Why?" Strife asked curiously.

"Lister's entire army can fly, save for the soldiers manning their ballistae," Morgan pointed out. "They can circumvent any fortifications we prepare, and attack us from any direction. If we let them attack us, we'll be forced into an open battlefield."

"I know, and I would rather dissuade them from attacking at all," Strife agreed. "But that no longer seems possible."

"We could attack them _tonight_ ," Morgan suggested. Her words were met by an awkward silence, as everyone, save for Soren who was still studying the map, turned to stare at her incredulously.

"Are you joking, Morgan? Or do you and Dad have a contest going where you both try to come up with the craziest ideas?" Severa finally demanded.

"Lister and his forces would just come out to meet us," Lucina pointed out. "We'd still be forced into an open battlefield, just one that's within range of their ballistae. What's the difference?"

"The difference is that Morgan's not planning to destroy their army head on," Soren guessed quietly. "If we can find and rescue Prince Valent, the rebellion will at least be weakened, if it doesn't dissolve outright."

"Right," Morgan said, nodding. "If we can find Prince Valent and get him to safety, the war will be pretty much over."

"But you don't even know where Valent is," Celera interjected.

"I don't know for sure," Morgan admitted. "But I can guess," she added, pointing out Phoenicis Hall on the map. "They captured a fortified castle when they seized Phoenicis. The only better choice would have been to turn him over to the Redeemers, but that seems unlikely if he doesn't trust Beorc or magic."

"Even if you're right, and Lister is holding Valent in Phoenicis Hall, fighting our way to his side and back to Kilvas afterwards won't be any easier than simply defeating Lister outright," Strife pointed out.

"We don't have to fight our way back out," Severa said, her expression brightening. "Once we find the prince, we can use warp powder to return to Kilvas immediately."

"Perfect!" Celera proclaimed excitedly.

"Hardly," Strife interrupted, shaking his head. "It still won't be easy to force our way through Lister's frontlines, not to mention the guards within the castle. We'll need a sizable force. You might have extra warp powder, but is it enough for the hundreds of soldiers it would take to fight our way through?"

Morgan shook her head and smiled. "We don't have to fight our way through. I have a better idea. Have you ever seen a shell game, Your Majesty?"


	8. Part Two: Dance of Death

**~ Part Two ~**

 **Dance of Death**

 _King Phoenicis must be going mad. He seems to be keeping a cool head, but it's as if his world has just turned itself upside down. His best friend is missing and his subjects are rebelling against him. He's been chased from his home, and his country is at war for the first time in centuries. He's not entirely alone, but that only makes things more complicated. The Nighthawk looks at the world in a very straightforward manner, and now that I've met her father, I think she gets that outlook from him._

 _He's been backed into a corner, and the only real help that has arrived is a small, motley band of strangers. He didn't even know about Ylisse until King Goldoa told him about us. He knew Nasir and General Felicia, but the only one of us he knew anything about asides from those two is Soren, someone straight from the pages of Tellius's history books. That has to be a bit disconcerting._

 _Yet he's still willing to entrust his army to Soren and me._

 _I wonder if the king would even be listening to us if it wasn't for Soren's reputation. The stories say that hundreds of years ago, the Greil Mercenaries, including Soren, fought alongside the Laguz Alliance. It wasn't until Soren explained just how shaky Beorc-Laguz relations were that I began to appreciate how remarkable that was. The Laguz were willing to give him a chance, though they thought him to be Beorc and were prejudiced against him from the beginning. He must have proved himself to them, too, because now, hundreds of years later, even the children of those Soren once fought beside remember him and are willing to trust him again on reputation alone._

 _Or maybe it comes back to the fact that King Phoenicis knows he's been backed into a corner. He's wise enough to understand King Goldoa's warning, and that the danger extends beyond the borders of his country. I think, even without Soren here, King Phoenicis may have been willing to give us a chance to help._

 _To give me a chance, just like the Laguz gave Soren a chance all those centuries ago._

 _A small part of me wonders if that's really wise. I've never really led an entire army into battle before. Even when Lucina asked me to help her lead the Shepherds, and even when Cynthia, Severa, and their Pegasus knights tagged along, our group never numbered more than fifty. I may have studied warfare time and time again, but having an army of two thousand following my orders is totally new to me._

 _Thankfully, everything we've heard points to the enemy's leader being even less prepared. King Phoenicis warned us that our enemy probably sought out a tactician of his own, but Soren didn't seem impressed. For the first time that I can remember, Soren expressed absolute confidence in one of my plans. I guess that's as clear a sign as any of his low opinion regarding Laguz commanders. Even Celera seemed a bit skeptical of Lister finding himself a capable tactician._

 _I hope Soren is right about me being a match for Lister. The coming skirmish promises to be nothing like a classic battle. Normally, when you have such a large advantage in numbers, you have the flexibility to exploit your opponent's weaknesses. Attrition is on your side as long as every exchange is at least close to even, and the campaign revolves around finding those favorable engagements and pressing your opponent relentlessly._

 _But in this campaign, inflicting casualties is just as detrimental to our cause as sustaining them. Even if it were possible, we cannot afford to charge headlong into battle and destroy our enemies. The losses suffered on either side of this war would only scar Phoenicis, and strengthen the Redeemers._

 _Oddly enough, I find this thought to be comforting. When I look at it this way, it's not as different from my travels with Lucina and the Shepherds as I first thought. Keeping my friends safe was always my first priority, and since we all had enough bloodshed for many lifetimes during our struggle against Grima, we always preferred subduing our enemies instead of killing them, even if some of them were doomed to be hanged for their crimes later._

 _This battle won't be flawless; it can't be, not with so many variables and so many soldiers on the field. It won't be easy, either; battles are never easy, when you're constantly haunted by the knowledge that the smallest mistake could cost several people their lives._

 _But I know we'll win. We'll dance carefully around our enemy, and seize our objectives with as little bloodshed as possible, because I won't let anyone down. Not my friends, who are trusting me with their lives. Not King Phoenicis, who is trusting me with his country's future. Not Soren, who staked his reputation on my success by voicing his support for my plan. I won't disappoint any of them._

 _And I won't disappoint my father. Never that._


	9. Chapter 5

**~ Chapter 5 ~**

 _The bright afternoon sun peeked through the log cabin's windows, illuminating the small house's rustic interior. A faint thumping sound echoed repeatedly, punctuated periodically with groans of annoyance, as a man standing at the kitchen counter fumbled with a small knife._

 _"Seriously, how is this supposed to work?" he muttered to himself, staring bitterly at the potatoes lying on his wooden cutting board. Small tatters of potato peelings were strewn not only across the cutting board, but the counter and floor, too, intermingled with pieces of potato that had accidentally been shaved off. It didn't help that a good portion of the peels clung to the blade of the rather dull knife._

 _Frustrated, the man reached up to brush his medium-length blue hair out of his eyes. As a younger man, he had kept his hair cropped short to keep it from interfering with his swordplay, but it had been almost two decades since he had last been forced into battle. Not that anyone who witnessed his ineptitude with a simple vegetable knife would believe him to have once been a swordsman anyways, he mused silently._

 _When his next cut tore off a haphazard chunk of the potato he had been trying to peel, he gave another groan of disgust and tossed the knife down to the counter, with a bit more force than strictly necessary. After a few noisy bounces, it tumbled off of the counter entirely, falling to the ground with a loud clatter._

 _"The Radiant Hero, bested by a mere tuber. What a sight this is."_

 _At the sound of the unexpected voice, the man spun around, his troubles forgotten. Standing behind him was a smaller man, who appeared far younger, but was really about the same age as he. "Soren!?" he gasped._

 _"It's good to see you again, Ike," Soren said with a slight smile. His appearance was unchanged from the day he had left, with the same dark, almost greenish hair, slender frame, and the distinctive crimson mark on his forehead. "Would you like some help with that potato of yours? I'm not quite sure whether your purpose is to peel it or mutilate it," the branded mage added wryly._

 _"I'm not sure," Ike admitted, glaring at the uncooperative tumor. "Helen's come down with a cold, leaving me to sort out dinner. But never mind the potatoes. How was your journey?"_

 _"Pleasant enough," Soren replied. "You look good, Ike. Are you still training every morning with Greil?"_

 _"Usually, yes, though sometimes, chasing the little one is all the exercise I need. I swear, I have no idea where she finds all that energy," Ike said wearily. "Perhaps it's just my age catching up with me at last. How's Soren?"_

 _"He's doing well," Soren replied. "He's settled down in Ferox, now. It took me three months just to find him. Incidentally, I still haven't forgiven you for naming your second son after me. It took me nearly a week to convince him not to call me 'Uncle', but thanks to the two of us sharing a name, our conversations only drew more awkward stares after that."_

 _"If it only took you three months to find him, why were you gone so long?" Ike asked with a frown. "It's been nearly two years, Soren. Greil was beginning to worry that you weren't coming back at all. He said you probably settled down in Ferox yourself, maybe even started a family of your own."_

 _"I doubt that'll ever happen. He should've known better," Soren said with a shrug. "Although I did take some time to see the sights in Ferox. It's quite a nice place, actually, though many of its residents are rather belligerent and odoriferous."_

 _"Ah, well. If Soren is happy there, then…" Ike began._

 _"Give me that," Soren interrupted firmly._

 _"Huh?" Ike asked, before realizing that Soren's words weren't meant for him._

 _Soren had already moved to Ike's side and kneeled, extending his open palm towards a little blue-haired girl who was clutching the fallen vegetable knife. "That's not a toy," Soren said sternly._

 _The toddler looked up at Soren with her large, imperturbable eyes. She didn't seem intimidated in the slightest, but reluctantly obeyed, carefully handing the knife to Soren._

 _"Thank you," Soren said curtly, before gently depositing the knife back on the counter, then glaring accusingly at Ike._

 _"Thanks, Soren," Ike said with a sheepish grin. "There's, uh, no need to mention this to Helen, is there?"_

 _"I suppose not. After all, it seems your granddaughter is less of a hazard with cooking utensils than you are," Soren replied, indicating the mess on the counter, and then a dent in the hardwood floor._

 _"If only cooking could be more like fighting," Ike grumbled, as the little girl let out an amused giggle._

 _"Would you like some assistance?" Soren offered._

 _Ike looked relieved, but just as he opened his mouth to answer, a sly expression found its way onto his face. "Actually, why don't you play with Eirene? Since her father and mother are out in the fields, she must be a bit lonely playing inside all by herself," Ike suggested innocently._

 _The toddler's eyes lit up joyfully at her grandfather's words._

 _"I don't know if that's such a good idea," Soren said hesitantly._

 _"Trust me, I'll be just fine. I'll make sure dinner is edible, even if it kills me," Ike promised, though he wasn't quite able to hide his smirk entirely. "What do you think, Eirene? Do you want Soren to play with you?"_

 _"Ike, you know I'm no good with children," Soren protested, even as Eirene excitedly rushed to his side and tugged at his arm._

 _"It's not as hard as it looks, if you don't mind being constantly short of breath and plagued with aching muscles," Ike said, smirking. "Besides, you've always been a fast learner, haven't you?" Ike ignored Soren's contemptuous glare, and returned to his unglamorous duel with the potatoes._

 _An hour later, when the potatoes had been cut into small chunks approximating cubes and were sitting in a slowly bubbling pot of stew, Ike set out in search of his wayward granddaughter, hoping that she hadn't created_ too _much trouble for Soren._

 _He couldn't help but laugh when he found Soren sitting on the grassy meadow, with his back against the trunk of a large tree. The branded mage looked thoroughly exhausted, and shot Ike a helpless, pleading look as the old warrior approached. Eirene looked equally tired, but was wearing a contented smile as she slumbered peacefully, nestled comfortably against Soren's side._

 _"A little help, please?" Soren asked quietly._

 _"Help?" Ike asked, feigning confusion. "With what? You two seem pretty comfortable."_

 _"Ike…" Soren began in a dangerous tone._

 _"Dinner should be ready in an hour if you'd like to join us," Ike said cheerfully, cutting Soren off. With that, the blue-haired warrior turned and marched back towards his cottage, trying and failing to keep from laughing aloud._

* * *

The night was almost perfectly dark over the turbulent ocean's surface, as a thick layer of clouds masked the light of the stars and moon above. Even the beating of hundreds of pairs of large, feathery wings could barely be heard over the crashing sound of the waves below, as Kilvas's vanguard, a full three hundred of King Phoenicis' strongest and most loyal hawk and raven soldiers, flew westbound, gliding unerringly towards Phoenicis.

Abruptly, Strife pivoted around, searching the darkness for the rest of his host. Even his sharp eyes could barely make out the dark shapes of his kin, but he knew that the rest of his army, save for a hundred soldiers that had been left to maintain order in Kilvas, were following from a distance as instructed.

A Pegasus bearing two riders gently swooped to his side. "Is everything alright, King Phoenicis?" Morgan asked, concerned. Seated behind her, Soren said nothing, and looked rather bored.

"Nothing to worry about. I just wanted to make sure we weren't getting too far ahead of the rest of our army," Strife answered.

"Do we _have_ to go through with this?" Celera asked, flying up to Strife's other side. "We have a full two thousand soldiers behind us. Once we disable the ballistae, we can just crush Lister and the rest of the traitors.

"These are our people, Celera," Strife reminded gently. "Some might be traitors, but many are loyal to Valent, and have only been deceived."

"Willingly deceived," Soren put in cynically.

"Maybe, but the less blood spilled over this, the better," Strife said decisively.

"Right," Morgan agreed, as she turned back to Phoenicis. Unlike the approaching army, the island was clearly visible. The rebels remained vigilant, but the torches that lay strewn along the perimeter marked them and their war machines clearly. "We're close enough, I think. Let's go."

"Stay safe, everyone," Strife called, as Morgan and Soren flew towards the southern wing of their vanguard, and Celera set off towards the north. A moment later, the vanguard split into three groups of a hundred soldiers each, and the north and south wings separated further, each angling to attack a different part of the Phoenician coastline.

As Strife's force drew closer, the enemy movements below became more defined, and it was quickly apparent that though they had surprised Lister's forces, the soldiers below were ready.

"King Phoenicis, should I give the order to attack?" General Tarn asked as he joined his king.

"Not yet," Strife said, as he watched Morgan's division disappear into the distance, knowing that Morgan's attack would have to precede his own.

* * *

"Here we are again," Lehran whispered quietly to himself, as he detached himself from the rest of Celera's division. He sighed as he gingerly lifted the tome that the young Beorc girl had given him.

It was different this time, he had to believe. Just like the civil war that had broken out in Daein centuries prior, not everyone wanted to fight this time. Not everyone was blind to the ruin left in the wake of ruthless ambition and selfish desire.

And yet here they were again, standing on the brink of war.

Still, there was hope. The young tactician's instructions had been surprising, yet explicit. Lehran drew closer to the Phoenician coast and readied his spell, though he still remained too far to strike at the nearest ballistae.

In answer to his mental summons, magic flames burst forth and fell downwards. The rhythmic crashing of the waves below became a loud hiss of protest, as gouts of blinding steam billowed upward. Again and again, Lehran unleashed the magical flames, adding to the obscuring fog.

By the time he was finished, though he could hear the beating of wings as Celera and a handful of her soldiers soared past him, he could see nothing but the fog and a few dark blurs. He shook his head and did his best to put the din of battle out of mind as he continued feeding flames into the frothing waves below, maintaining the magical fog.

* * *

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to lead this battle instead?" Morgan asked timidly, when she rejoined the rest of her division and flew to her mother's side.

" _You're_ the tactician, not me," Cordelia replied with an encouraging smile. "You'll be fine, Morgan."

"I know… it just feels weird to be in charge of an entire army," Morgan said with a sigh. "Especially a flying one."

"Enough of that," Soren berated. "Our position is tenuous enough already; you can tell that not all the hawks and ravens are entirely comfortable with following a Beorc tactician into battle. If you don't have confidence in yourself, how can you ask them to?"

"You'll be fine," Cordelia repeated, holding onto her warm smile.

Morgan took a deep breath, stilling her nerves. "Let's go," she said, trying to sound determined.

She swerved quickly to the left, flashing a quick hand signal to the nearest Laguz, before banking hard and diving towards the sea. She pulled back the reins at the last minute, and sped towards the Phoenician coastline, a mere ten feet above the ocean's surface.

Behind her, Soren carefully measured the remaining distance between them and their enemies, timing his spell. Just before they were within range of the enemy ballistae, Soren unleashed a series of fireballs at the ocean below. A magical, obscuring cloud of steam billowed in their wake, spreading and enveloping them, concealing them from the ballistae. Morgan urged Catria into a sharp turn as the spells went off, but Cordelia, who had been following from a short distance, shot past her.

Though she was also blinded by the cloud, Morgan didn't hesitate, and turned towards the coastline once more, following only a few seconds behind her mother as Soren quickly switched tomes. When she surfaced from the fog, she was less than a hundred feet from the closest ballistae. The Redeemers manning the siege engines tried desperately to adjust their sights, but at such a close range, there was no way they could hit a target as fast as a Pegasus. Morgan let loose a fireball of her own, setting the nearest ballista ablaze, as Cordelia descended upon the second ballista, neatly slicing through its bowstring with a precisely thrown javelin, and sending the loaded bolt soaring off harmlessly into the magical fog.

Shouts of outrage rang out as both Pegasi quickly retreated back into the fog. The enemy hawks were quick to take to the skies, but Morgan immediately turned her attention back to replenishing and extending the blinding steam clouds.

* * *

"Skylar, Astor, what the hell is going on!?" Lister, still in the guise of Valent, barked angrily as he reached the front lines.

"The damnable crow couldn't wait, I guess," Skylar answered first, with a broad grin. "Fine by me if they'd rather bring the battle to us and save us a flight."

"They've blinded our ballistae," Astor said worriedly. Even from the center of their line, he could see enemy hawks and ravens swooping in and out of the clouds to the north.

"Good riddance," Lister said with a snort. "It's not like the Beorc idiots manning their giant bows could tell us and our foes apart in a pitched battle, anyways."

Astor grimaced. He had spent the entire afternoon trying unsuccessfully to dissuade Lister from this attack. Even the wyverns mounted with crossbowmen that the Redeemers had brought them wouldn't be enough to swing a battle when they were outnumbered three-to-one, but patience was a concept lost upon their fearless leader.

Thankfully, before he could attempt to lodge a futile protest against what he knew Lister's plan to be, one of their messengers arrived, making his point for him.

"King Phoenicis, it's the Nighthawk!" a hawk soldier cried out, panting for breath. "They've destroyed one of the ballistae already!"

"Fight back, then! Forget the useless Beorc soldiers and their oversized bows!" Lister ordered.

"We can't, they keep retreating into the fog," the soldier protested.

"Then chase after them!" Lister fumed.

"We tried, but they only retreated further into the fog! They may have us outnumbered!"

"Pathetic whelps," Lister spat. "Skylar, you take command of our northern defenses. Take the Nighthawk alive if you can, but drive them back at any cost!"

"With pleasure," Skylar replied with a cruel grin. A split second later, the fierce hawk transformed and soared to the northern line eagerly.

"Wait!" Astor protested. But he was too late, and Skylar didn't so much as slow, leaving Astor and Lister alone with the messenger.

"What is it?" Lister demanded impatiently.

"This doesn't make any sense," Astor said, thinking furiously. "If Strife was confident that he could defeat us, why even bother with this fog? Why didn't he just wait and intercept our attack tomorrow, away from the ballistae?"

"He's a raven," Lister said dismissively. "So caught up with his scheming that he's even deceived himself."

Astor shook his head frantically. "But don't you see? If he was hoping to take us by surprise, he should have tried to overwhelm us outright. Engaging defensively doesn't make any sense, unless he _wants_ us to pursue him into the open skies."

"So what?" Lister grumbled.

"The only reason for him to attack now is if he wanted the battle to be fought near Phoenicis," Astor reasoned. "It appears our southern flank is under attack, too. He's trying to separate our forces. The rest of his army must be waiting, ready to storm the island the moment we abandon our line!"

Coincidentally, a second messenger had just arrived, returned from the southern flank. "Pegasus knights, along the southern lines! Begnion has sided with Kilvas!"

Before Lister or Astor could respond, a third messenger arrived. "Your Majesty, our enemies in the south have spread the accursed fog north! They're attacking our eastern fortifications. Strife himself is leading the attack!"

"Begnion, too?" Lister growled. "Damn that miserable crow! How did he get the Beorc involved so quickly?"

"King Valent, we have to hold our line," Astor insisted. "We can't allow Strife's forces to divide us and break through, or we'll be under attack from all sides!"

"Fine!" Lister roared, frustrated. "You go south and hold the line, or whatever you want to do! I'm going to go tear that upstart's head off!" With that, Lister transformed, gliding east to rally his forces and strike directly at his hated foe.

"Soldier," Astor called, as one of the two messengers made to follow suit. "Stay with the king for now, but be ready to retreat, if the rest of Kilvas's army shows itself."

"Understood, sir," the soldier agreed hastily, before taking wing.

With a groan of disgust, Astor turned towards the southeast coast of Phoenicis, wondering whether Lister's recklessness would truly undo all of their efforts since their successful coup.

* * *

Strife smiled with grim satisfaction as he watched the nearest ballista collapse, crumbling under the weight of repeated blows from a trio of his raven soldiers. Several of the rebel hawks were quick to respond, rising into the air immediately, but Strife's soldiers, raven and hawk alike, fell upon them in a violent flurry. A moment later, they sank back into the steam cloud, long before their enemies could accurately count the raiders.

Strife then spotted a dark blur beneath them, turning and speeding back towards the southern flank. With Morgan returning to her own division, the steam would soon disperse, leaving them vulnerable. "One more pass, General. Then we retreat," Strife instructed, knowing that their window of opportunity was quickly closing.

When Strife and his warriors burst forth from the cloud once more, a ballista bolt went whizzing by, closer than any thus far, but still more than thirty feet off the mark. A few rebel hawks who had evidently been waiting for the next attack were waiting to intercept them, but Strife immediately realized that they had other problems. "Fall back!" he ordered, as he saw a large flock of hawk Laguz in distance, closing in quickly.

"Fall back, everyone, fall back!" General Tarn echoed. Before the Redeemer archers below could even load a second bolt, Strife and his soldiers disappeared into the mist once more, using the temporary reprieve to put as much distance between them and the enemy ballista as possible.

Strife turned back and watched as the steam slowly thinned out. The pursuing hawks hadn't slowed in the slightest, and from their silhouettes, it appeared the band of rebels was perhaps half the size of Strife's division.

"Do we retreat further?" Tarn asked.

Strife frowned. Contrary to Morgan's predictions, it seemed that despite being caught off guard, the rebels were more than willing to engage them in battle away from the deadly ballistae. "They should have turned back… they can't hope to win this fight."

A moment later, enough of the steam had faded, leaving the leader of the pursuing rebels clearly visible. "Valent!" Tarn gasped, with several of his soldiers echoing his surprised outburst.

"No wonder," Strife said, rolling his eyes.

* * *

Across from Strife and out of earshot, Lister groaned in dismay. Astor had been right, after all. Strife had barely a hundred soldiers with him, and in normal circumstances, Lister would have gladly charged headlong into battle. But now, he could make out the weaving movements of hundreds, possibly even thousands, of hawks and ravens in the distance.

Even still, Lister was not in the habit of backing off from a fight. "Forward! Trounce the traitor king and his pathetic servants!" Lister roared, leading the charge.

But already, Strife and his soldiers were retreating further, pulling back towards the rest of their force. Only when he realized he would be outnumbered at least ten-to-one, possibly worse, did Lister hesitate.

"Your Majesty, do we pursue them still?" one soldier asked worriedly.

"If we do, we will be leaving Phoenicis vulnerable," another soldier added. He shrank visibly as Lister glared at him dangerously. "I beg your pardon, Your Majesty," he hastily apologized.

"So, this is your plan, eh, Strife? You conniving bastard! You wanted to lead my soldiers away from the coast so that your army would be free to fly over us and stab us in the back," Lister muttered, ignoring the soldier for now. He then shook his head violently. "Forget it. If the cowardly crow won't face us out here, then we'll take the battle to him tomorrow. Pull back and hold the line just past the coastline. Send messengers to those idiots in the north and south, telling them to do the same."

"Yes, Your Majesty," several soldiers said in chorus.

As one, they began retreating towards their fortifications, with a pair of messengers speeding off in opposite directions. As they came within range of their ballista once more, Lister grimaced, noting that several of the ballistae had been destroyed. Could that be Strife's backup plan, then? To peck at them again and again until Phoenicis was left vulnerable?

"Get more soldiers to the front line," Lister barked abruptly. "If the damned ravens return, I want every last soldier fit to fight waiting for them!" Obediently, another messenger set off towards the capital to muster additional reinforcements. Lister paid him little heed as his eyes found the Redeemer soldiers, who were frantically trying to repair the damaged ballistae. It made his stomach turn to think that they could be relying on Beorc soldiers and their ridiculous war engines, but if Strife had magical assistance, then he, too, would need all the help he could get. "Maybe those ridiculous bows will prove useful, after all," he muttered darkly.

* * *

Up in the north, Celera had chosen to follow a slightly different interpretation of Morgan's instructions. Lehran had retreated towards the main host as soon as his tome was spent, and as soon as she saw the protective shroud of steam diminish, Celera pulled back her soldiers, escaping the range of the Redeemers' ballistae.

A large group of enemy hawks pursued them, and like the band Lister had led in pursuit of Strife, this rebel force didn't hesitate to leave the range of their ballistae, tactical advantage or not. Celera grinned wickedly as she spotted and recognized their leader. "Skylar, huh?" Celera mused, remembering Lister's close friend. She had never been particularly fond of the brutish hawk.

"Don't let them escape!" Skylar cried out. He charged ahead, leading a force even larger than Lister's, one equal to Celera's own. He spotted the rest of Kilvas's army drifting off in the distance, but ignored it entirely.

He began scanning the enemy hawks and ravens as they turned back to meet him, searching for any sign of the Nighthawk. But in the darkness, he hadn't noticed Celera breaking away from the rest of her soldiers.

There was a loud rush of wind as a hawk with black feathers suddenly bore down upon him, descending seemingly out of nowhere. The Nighthawk let out a victorious shriek as her talons struck home, tearing at Skylar brutally.

"It's her! Take her!" Skylar ordered, as soon as he got a clear view of his attacker. His orders went unheard, though, as battle cries split the air and shrieks of pain rang out all around him. Loosened feathers drifted softly through the open skies as wounded Laguz plummeted downwards toward their watery graves. "Imbeciles!" Skylar grumbled, when none of his soldiers noticed his plight.

"What's the matter, Skylar? Weren't you the one who always hinted at wanting to spend some 'alone time' together?" Celera teased.

Skylar shot her an angry look before spiraling upward, trying to gain an advantage in altitude. The intolerable half-blood brat was going to die, Lister's orders be damned, he decided.

He changed his mind a second later, when Celera sped past him, mirroring his movements with greater speed. "Just try to keep up!" Celera taunted, grinning broadly. Realizing there was no way he could outpace her, Skylar turned and dived instead, trying to escape her reach. Celera followed suit, tailing him closely.

"You're turning your back on King Valent? You're choosing that raven upstart over your own brother!?" Skylar thundered accusingly, hoping to distract the dangerous princess.

Celera didn't dignify Skylar's ridiculous accusation with a response, and only lunged for his neck once more. Skylar quickly darted away, but not before Celera's claws reached him, slashing his wing painfully.

With his pride stung, Skylar saw only red. "That's it!" he snarled viciously as he spun, throwing himself headlong at the smaller hawk, hoping to simply knock her out of the air.

Rather than swerving aside, Celera met his charge fearlessly, unbothered by the fact that her opponent outweighed her by at least fifty pounds. She held her course until the very last second, whereupon she pulled up so that she could glide into her foe, talons first.

In the darkness, Skylar couldn't even see his adversary's subtle movements. He let out a startled grunt as he suddenly lost all momentum, and a burning sensation ripped through his outstretched talons. The pain was replaced with a strange numbness, and try as he might, he couldn't shake it off as the wind suddenly began rushing past him.

As he saw the silhouette of a smaller hawk soaring away, a mere shadow against the overcast skies, he realized what had happened. "How?" Skylar protested weakly, as he found himself unable to right himself, or even sustain his transformation any longer. Somehow, the smaller hawk had managed to pin him outright, stealing his momentum and tearing deep into his flesh.

He tried frantically to flap his wings, to regain altitude before it was too late, but a searing pain ripped through his wings and arms. The clever and agile dark-feathered hawk had slashed at his wings yet again as she pulled away, leaving him unable to fly.

Droplets of blood spewed forth from his wings, arms, and legs, as he plummeted towards the waves below, struggling futilely. There was a loud, crashing noise as he slammed into the ocean's surface.

And then all that remained of him were a few bloody feathers drifting upon the turbulent sea, bobbing beside those of his fallen kin, friends and foes alike.

* * *

 _"A shell game?" Strife echoed, surprised._

 _"Back in Ylisse, some merchants would play a simple game with their customers, wagering small amounts of gold," Morgan explained. "The merchant would hide a coin beneath one of three seashells before shuffling them around. The customer would then try to guess which shell the coin is hidden under."_

 _Strife nodded in recognition. "I've seen some of my soldiers play a similar game, only with coconut husks instead of seashells."_

 _"You have coconuts here in Kilvas?" Morgan asked, intrigued. "I haven't seen one since…"_

 _"Morgan!" Severa interrupted, exasperated._

 _"Oh! Sorry," Morgan apologized sheepishly. "Anyways, I think we should avoid engaging Phoenicis directly. We can probably disable their ballistae, but we'll still cause too many casualties on both sides if we try to fight them head on. Instead, let's send a small vanguard, divided into three divisions. If we attack at night, and use fire magic to create steam, we'll limit the range of their ballistae drastically. The rest of our army will wait nearby, but not too close."_

 _"A three-pronged attack," Strife mused. "They will either spread their defenses evenly along their frontlines, or concentrate their forces at one of the three targeted locations."_

 _"Exactly. Once they do…" Morgan began._

 _"We'll know where they're vulnerable, and be able to break straight through!" Celera finished excitedly._

* * *

"They're coming out to meet us," Soren observed. He and Morgan remained at the front of their division, though they had retreated to a safe distance as soon as the steam cleared. They could create another cloud if necessary, but their attack had already achieved the desired effect.

"I think they're just about out of range of their ballistae," Morgan noted. "But it looks like they're settling into defensive formations. Let's go."

"Wait," Soren instructed, his eyes narrowing.

Obediently, Morgan held the reins still.

"These formations are carefully orchestrated," Soren finally decided. "They're not trying to pursue us. They're positioning themselves to keep us from approaching the coast again."

"They want to protect their remaining ballistae," Morgan reasoned. "We destroyed two of the ballistae back there, and Mom destroyed another one."

"Right, but that's a completely different reaction from the center of their defensive line," Soren reminded. "Those soldiers overextended in pursuing King Strife's division. If it had been our intention, we could have wrapped around them from behind and destroyed them easily, long before they could retreat behind their ballistae."

Morgan understood at once. "Their army is divided, too," she realized. "The center of their line is only reacting to Strife's movements. We could easily throw up more steam and strafe the center of their line again, if we wanted to, but not down here."

"Exactly. The rebels opposing Strife are behaving exactly as we suspected they would, but down here, the rebels appear to have a true tactician of their own," Soren concluded.

"We've already outplayed them, then," Morgan reminded. "We weren't planning to attack again, save for a few feints to keep their attention on us."

"Plans change," Soren said coolly, as he continued to scan the enemy formations. "Lister must have chosen his commanders from the followers he trusts most. Surprisingly enough, this commander seems moderately competent."

"Alright. So what?" Morgan asked impatiently.

"So it's time to unlevel the playing field," Soren said, a hard glint in his eyes. "Their leader is positioned at the back of their left-most column."

Morgan glanced over at the enemy formations, surprised, though Soren's reasoning quickly became apparent. Normally, a commander would place himself near the center of his force to make it easier to distribute his orders, but Morgan looked past the asymmetrical formation and the extra concentration of troops around the center, and focused instead of the open routes left for messengers. "They're trying to throw us off, but they're leaving clear paths for messengers to travel outward from that corner," Morgan noticed.

"He's hiding. The guards in the center are meant to keep us from finding him easily," Soren stated.

"If we can throw their formation into chaos, we can detach ourselves from the rest of the battle, swing around, and take out their leader," Morgan agreed. She turned, searching for her mother. "Mom!" she called, when she spotted the other Pegasus drifting nearby.

"What is it, Morgan? Are we pulling back?" Cordelia asked.

"Not yet," Morgan replied, shaking her head. "Do you think you can safely take out their southernmost wyvern rider safely?"

Cordelia studied the enemy formation for a few seconds before replying. "Easily," she decided, hefting a small bronze shield studded with a ruby.

"Umm… these shields Dad gave us definitely work, right?" Morgan added, as she reached into her Pegasus's saddlebag for her own shield.

"They work. Just make sure you're facing the shooter," Cordelia reminded.

"Okay," Morgan said. "Can you take half of our force and swing around from the south? Go straight at them and take out that wyvern rider, then try to break their formations. Don't commit to the attack, though."

"And when they do break their formations?" Cordelia asked.

"Keep them distracted, and attack only if you see a clear opening," Morgan instructed. "Retreat at the first sign of danger, or at my signal."

Moments later, the Laguz soldiers behind them had been divided into two equal forces, and Morgan led her own force directly at the center of the enemy formation.

She clutched her shield tightly, eyeing the Redeemer wyvern rider carefully as the gap between them slowly closed. When she was finally within range, the Redeemer's crossbow snapped upward. She was too far to hear the soft click or see the diminutive bolt flying through the air, but she saw the man's arm move.

That was all the warning she needed. She lifted the shield up instinctively, putting her faith in her father's magical creation.

The shield flashed as the bolt drew near, pulling the projectile into an unusual arc away from the Pegasus's vulnerable wings. With a loud clang, the bolt struck the shield and bounced off harmlessly. A second clang, and then a third, rang out as the Redeemer fired twice more. All three bolts struck the shield, bouncing off harmlessly and giving Morgan time to close the remaining distance.

She turned Catria slightly then, adjusting her shield as she went, and giving Soren a clear line of fire. To her surprise, a bolt of lightning rippled through the air and blasted the wyvern from the sky. "Thunder?" Morgan asked, as she watched the dead wyvern and its rider plummet to the frigid waters below.

"Tellius's wyverns here have sturdier and thicker wings than the wyverns of Ylisse," Soren explained. "Wind magic doesn't throw them off course quite as easily, but they are extremely susceptible to thunder magic."

Morgan nodded, quickly filing away the information for future use, as some of their enemies flew out to meet them. Soren switched back to his wind tome and managed to get off a single spell, before the rest of Morgan's soldiers flew past her, joining battle with the hawks.

Morgan looked to the south, and found that end of the enemy formation in similar disarray. The western and northern parts of the enemy formation began thinning as well, as the enemy soldiers moved to join in the fighting, and the defensive cluster at the center of the formation dissolved, confirming that it had merely been for show.

"North," Soren said, indicating where a single hawk had detached himself from the rest of the fighting.

Morgan pulled away from the fighting and swooped downward, hoping to escape the enemy commander's notice. They flew a quick arc around the outside of the battle, before coming up right behind the enemy commander.

The hawk commander spun, and his eyes widened in shock as he realized that one of his enemies had managed to sneak up behind him.

"Well played," Soren congratulated the hawk commander, as he conjured a powerful gust of wind. "But not well enough."

Instinctively, the hawk commander transformed and tried to escape Soren's reach, but the gust of wind caught him from behind, neatly tearing him out of the sky.

Their work accomplished, Morgan sent a fireball skyward. Upon seeing the signal, the disciplined Laguz soldiers quickly extracted themselves from their skirmishes and fell back, as the enemy hawks scrambled around in search of their fallen commander.

Morgan and her own force regrouped a short distance away, as their befuddled enemies drifted aimlessly in circles.

"Well done, Commander," the hawk captain who Morgan had asked to coordinate their retreat congratulated. "Though I say we should have taken that opportunity to finish the battle for good."

"They had their wyverns still," Morgan reminded, for she had counted no less than eight wyverns among the enemy formation.

"Not anymore!" one raven cheered happily.

Morgan glanced back at the enemy formation, surprised. Sure enough, only a single wyvern rider remained.

"Lady Cordelia brought down four of them alone," one of the hawk soldiers explained.

"They were quite distracted," Cordelia said, dismissing their praise with a casual shrug.

"Distracted by your lance in their guts!" one hawk joked. "Come on, let's finish the job. Maybe we can draw more reinforcements south so that King Phoenicis can break through."

"Long live King Phoenicis!" several soldiers cheered.

Morgan shook her head. "Actually… we won't be advancing the rest of our army towards the center," she corrected, deciding that at this point, there was no reason to keep their plan secret any longer.

"We won't?" the raven captain asked, startled. "Will they be joining Princess Celera's force in the north, then?"

Morgan shook her head. "They're going to stay right where they are."

* * *

 _"Wait, no!" Morgan protested, trying to keep her plan from getting thoroughly derailed._

 _"Why not?" Celera asked, confused._

 _"Because it would take too long to coordinate the rest of our army," Strife reasoned. "If we wait to determine where Lister's line is weakest to advance our soldiers, we will give Lister ample time to reposition his own forces. We have to decide ahead of time which attack we will be committing to."_

 _"The rest of our army won't be attacking at all," Soren corrected, finally grasping the crux of Morgan's plan. "All we need to do is keep their attention on us, and their front line, for a few hours. There's no reason to risk additional casualties by committing to a major battle, even if it's one we can expect to win."_

 _"Right," Morgan agreed. "A shell game is really just a trick. The coin isn't actually hidden underneath one of the shells, the merchant hides it somewhere else entirely. We'll show Lister our three attacking divisions and the army waiting in reserve, so that he'll try to guess which attack is real. Then, while he's distracted, we can make our move."_

* * *

Severa stretched lightly, testing to see if the weariness induced by the warp powder had worn off. "I think I'm set," she whispered to Lucina.

Lucina nodded in agreement. "Ready, everyone?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Symphony confirmed.

Beside him, Harmony, Belle, and Felicia nodded as well.

"Let's get this over with," Harmony said.

"Okay. Lead us to the dungeon, Belle," Lucina asked.

"But… what about your other friend, Owain?" Belle asked, sounding worried.

"We have no idea where he went," Severa pointed out.

"Morgan's instructions were for anyone who got separated from Belle and me to warp back to Castle Kilvas immediately," Lucina reminded. "If he was smart about it, he would have used the rest of his warp powder to return to Kilvas as soon as he realized he warped to the wrong location."

"Owain? Smart?" Severa echoed incredulously.

Lucina grimaced. "Well, if he's still here, what do we do? We can't just leave him here."

"Sure we can," Severa replied instantly, though she looked uncomfortable. "Alright, fine, that's probably not a great idea," she admitted. "Let's just keep an eye out for him while we're searching for the prince." Her voice then dropped to an indecipherable mutter. "What an idiot…"

"Follow me," Belle instructed, as she slowly creaked open the door, leading her companions out of the abnormally large closet and down the silent hallways of Phoenicis Hall.


	10. Chapter 6

**~ Chapter 6 ~**

Owain fidgeted uncomfortably, wishing he had chosen a better hiding spot than beneath several heavy sacks of grain. The weariness inflicted by the warp powder had finally begun to wear off, but after holding still for so long, his joints were beginning to feel painfully stiff. "The lone scion can suffer inaction no longer!" he exclaimed, leaping to his feet. Two of the sacks tumbled roughly to the side, where they promptly split, showering the ground noisily.

With a frown, Owain peered about the dimly lit kitchen, which remained as deserted now as it had been when he had first arrived. A single, dusty oil lantern continued to burn slowly, with enough oil remaining to last the night. "Lucina? Where are you?" Owain asked worriedly, when the silence grew stifling.

"Severa? Lucina?" Owain called, raising his voice slightly, before clapping his hands over his own mouth as he remembered he was deep within enemy territory.

He remained perfectly still for nearly a full minute, staring at the steadily burning lantern as he pondered his next move. Had the warp powder malfunctioned, taking him to the wrong kitchen? Or had the others changed their mind about their destination entirely?

Or had his friends simply set off without him?

With a frown, Owain reached for his remaining portion of warp powder. He stared at it for a few seconds before shaking his head and strapping the small drawstring pouch to his belt once more. He wasn't ready to abandon their mission quite yet, and the warp powder would still be there later if he needed it.

"The harbinger of light stands and fights alone if he must," Owain declared solemnly as he prepared to set off on his own, pausing only to pilfer a large strip of aromatic, smoked jerky from a nearby hook.

* * *

"Is Phoenicis Hall always this quiet?" Severa whispered as she glanced cautiously from side to side, searching for any signs of life.

"Morgan's diversion must be working pretty well," Lucina said optimistically.

"It's also the middle of the night," Felicia reminded.

Belle shook her head quickly. "Phoenicis Hall usually isn't very crowded, even during the day."

"Did you use to live here, Belle?" Harmony asked curiously.

"Yes. Almost immediately after King Tibarn's wedding, Aeolus, Lister's father, resigned. When he did, my father became King Tibarn's new advisor. Strife and I were only children at the time. We moved here with my father and mother. After they passed away, King Tibarn invited us to remain here with him, but Uncle Reyson brought us back to Kilvas instead," Belle explained. "Why do you ask?"

"I thought it was kind of funny how you were able to suggest half a dozen hiding places right away," Harmony said, grinning. "The closet of your old bedroom I understand, but a secret wine cellar? The tower conference room? The west wing kitchen larder?"

"Oh. I found most of those later. Even after we moved back to Kilvas, we still visited Phoenicis Hall at least once a month for many years. Celera and I would play hide-and-seek all over the castle. The two of us probably know this place better than any of the guards," Belle said, laughing lightly. "The smaller wine cellar was King Tibarn's, and hasn't been opened since my brother ascended to the throne. It would have been even safer than the closet of my old bedroom."

"But farther from the dungeon," Symphony reminded. "And your closet proved safe enough."

"Maybe Owain misheard us and warped to another one of the hiding spots you listed off instead," Severa said, trying not to sound overly concerned.

"Maybe," Lucina agreed, though she turned to Severa, wearing an amused expression. "You sound worried."

"No way," Severa denied vehemently. "I just don't want this to turn into another huge manhunt. We're in big enough of a mess already because of him."

"Uh-huh," Lucina said, clearly unconvinced. "Say, Belle, didn't you tell us that the kitchen was even closer to the dungeon?"

"Yes, but we're more likely to run into guards there if any of them stop by to grab a snack or something," Belle said with a shrug.

"Could we drop by and see if Owain is hiding there?" Lucina asked.

"We could," Belle said hesitantly. "But it's on the opposite side of the stairs leading to the dungeon. We would have to travel through the main hallways to get there."

"How far past the dungeon is? We can flatten any of Lister's guards if we have to," Severa said confidently.

"It's not worth the risk," Lucina interrupted quickly. "Owain has warp powder to get himself out if necessary. I'm worried about him too, but…"

"I'm _not_ worried," Severa insisted.

"But he's not in any real danger, while Prince Valent and our mission definitely are," Lucina finished, ignoring the interruption.

"Are we still headed straight for the dungeon, then?" Belle asked.

Lucina only nodded, inwardly hoping that she wasn't making a huge mistake.

* * *

"You know, Morgan, your plan really should have included a map. Or at least instructions on what to do if we got separated," Owain whispered unhappily, as he fumbled his way down the dark corridor. He stopped abruptly, though, dipping his head thoughtfully. " _Were_ there instructions for that?" he wondered aloud.

After about a minute, he shrugged helplessly. If there had been instructions, they wouldn't do him any good if he didn't remember them. As it was, he could either bail out, hoping the others could complete the mission without him, or keep wandering through the castle alone, hoping to stumble across the dungeon randomly.

"Hey, you there!"

Startled, Owain spun to see two large men racing down the hall towards him. One of the two held up a torch, shedding light upon their brown, feathery wings. "Hi?" Owain greeted cautiously, reaching for his sword.

"What are you doing here?" the hawk Laguz carrying the torch demanded. "There's a battle going on. All of you Beorc soldiers are supposed to be at the front lines!"

"Phoenicis Hall is off-limits to the Beorc, anyways!" the other hawk Laguz reminded sternly, sounding suspicious.

"Oh… is it?" Owain said nervously, fumbling for an excuse. "Umm… I was sent here to check on the prisoners," he invented wildly.

"Prisoners?" The first hawk Laguz said doubtfully. "What prisoners?"

"The ones… uh… kept in the dungeon?" Owain stammered.

The second hawk groaned painfully, as if the remark had been stupid enough to cause him physical pain. "Not just a Beorc, but a _drunk_ Beorc. Listen, idiot, no one's used the dungeon in Phoenicis Hall in _centuries_."

"And you were going the wrong way, anyways," the first hawk pointed out, sounding equally annoyed. "Now, scram! Get out of here, and be glad King Valent doesn't have time to bother with drunken Beorc cowards!"

"Okay, okay," Owain agreed hastily, inwardly thankful that the guards had chalked his erratic behavior up to drinking. He turned and began walking back the way he had come, staggering a bit on purpose.

"Not that way, you fool!" one of the hawks barked angrily, reaching out for him.

Owain had been expecting the movement, and timed his spin perfectly. In a single, fluid motion, he unsheathed his sword, Last Wish, and sent it slashing outward in a wide arc. The advancing hawk fell back, startled, but was too slow to escape Owain's reach. The sword's fine darksteel blade sliced through the Laguz's thin clothing easily, leaving a deep gash across his belly.

"What!?" the other hawk roared angrily, dropping his torch and transforming instinctively as his companion collapsed to the floor. But Owain was faster, and leapt forward, leading with the bloodstained tip of his blade. The hawk launched himself into the air, pulling away from the swordsman, only for his wings to slap painfully against the ceiling of the confined corridor. He lost his grip upon his torch, which snuffed out as it hit the stone floor below. The hawk spun around blindly, seemingly lost.

Seeing his foe distracted, Owain charged forward again, tackling his airborne foe and pinning the hawk to the ground. The hawk quickly reverted in an effort to free himself, but stopped his thrashing when he felt cold, sharp metal resting against his throat. "I yield," the prone hawk gasped.

Owain turned to the first guard he had laid low, and to his relief, the fallen hawk let out a low moan of pain. Morgan had been quite adamant that they were to minimize casualties caused during their raid. Besides, Owain had no interest in playing executioner. Still, the two guards left him in quite a predicament.

"If I tie you two up, you'll probably just transform and break free, won't you?" Owain muttered. The unwounded Laguz winced as he overheard Owain, and even in the dark, Owain could tell the hawk was staring nervously at his sword. "Why are you two here, anyways?" Owain asked conversationally, raising his voice. "If there's a huge battle, shouldn't you two be on the front lines, too?"

"That's none of your business, traitor," the wounded hawk snarled, finding his voice at last as he crawled to a sitting position. He lost his bluster a second later, as Owain brandished his sword once more.

"Owain is no traitor! He fights on behalf of the rightful king and for the life of the imprisoned prince!" Owain proclaimed dramatically.

"You're daft, boy," the first Laguz proclaimed, after several seconds of stunned silence. "There _is_ no imprisoned prince. There's no imprisoned _anyone_. The throne rightfully belongs to _King_ Valent, who is battling against the armies of his traitorous, former friend this very minute!"

Owain frowned, wondering if perhaps Morgan had made a miscalculation. He could see the wounded Laguz nodding feebly in the darkness, corroborating his friend's seemingly sincere claim. But if Prince Valent wasn't being held here, where could the captured prince be?

Then another possibility occurred to Owain. "Wait a moment. If King Valent isn't here, and there aren't any prisoners being held here… what exactly are you two supposed to be guarding?"

"Phoenicis Hall, of course," came the automatic, if meaningless answer.

"From who?" Owain pointed out. "No one cares about an empty castle."

"How should we know?" the uninjured Laguz complained. "The king told us to patrol the castle, so that's what we're doing. We don't waste his time with stupid questions."

"Where are you patrolling?" Owain demanded. When neither of the Laguz answered, Owain jabbed his sword forward menacingly.

"Everywhere!" the wounded hawk cried out in a panic. "All the main hallways of the ground floor, and every floor above it!"

"Quiet!" Owain hissed, not wanting their cries to attract more guards. "And what about the dungeon?" he prompted, when the two guards fell silent.

"Of course not. I told you, the dungeon hasn't been used in hundreds of years," the same hawk said again.

Owain frowned thoughtfully. It made sense, in a way. If Lister was disguising himself as Valent to find support from his allies, then he couldn't afford to let on that he was holding the real Prince Valent captive. At the same time, it explained the guards stationed within Phoenicis Hall, despite there being nothing else of apparent value within the castle.

Of course, there was no way he was going to convince these two guards, but he was more determined than ever to leave the two guards alive if possible. That left him only one option.

"Resist, and I will no longer be able to suppress the unbridled rage of my demonic nature," Owain warned grimly, relighting the torch once more and setting it in a bracket on a nearby wall.

Both guards stared at him as if he was crazy, but as he was still holding his sword, neither resisted as Owain bound their wrists and wings together roughly. The young swordsman led the two guards back to the kitchen, where he pinned them to the ground beneath heavy sacks of grain. After extracting directions to reach the dungeon from his two captives, he set off with one final warning. "You will not leave this room until sunrise," Owain demanded.

He then set off with all haste, expecting the two stubborn Laguz to free themselves within a few minutes. "The sands of time shall not undo my endeavors today," Owain solemnly swore.

* * *

Harmony was the first to hear the soft footfalls of the approaching Laguz. "Someone's coming," she whispered, tugging firmly at the soft sleeve of Belle's dress.

Belle's eyes widened and she spun around, looking for somewhere to hide. "In here," she instructed quickly, rushing for the nearest doorway.

Just as her hand closed around the doorknob, a band of eight hawk Laguz turned the corner ahead of them.

"Intruders!" one of them cried out. As one, all eight of the Laguz guards transformed.

"Get behind us!" Lucina ordered. She and Severa pushed forward past Belle, drawing their weapons as they went.

But Harmony was the first to strike. The agile assassin nimbly rolled to the side, opening a clear line of fire between her and the hawk Laguz, and conjured a magical gale from her new tome. The spell caught the foremost of the hawks just as he transformed, ripping several feathers loose as it hurled him into one of his companions.

Undaunted, the remaining hawks surged forth, hoping to overwhelm their Beorc foes with their natural speed. Their plan hit a slight snag; neither Lucina nor Severa were intimidated, and simply matched their flying foes blow for blow. The two women were just as fast as the Laguz, and with the longer reach of their weapons, they were able to keep the hawks at bay with relative ease.

Felicia eyed the melee calculatingly for several seconds, searching for the best opening. Finally, as a pair of the hawks were forced back, she joined the fray herself, drawing her slender, curved blade and striking even faster than Lucina and Severa. The retreating Laguz were too slow to follow her dance, and only saw a brief, silvery flash before keeling beneath waves of crippling pain.

Taking advantage of the thorough distraction, Symphony pressed himself against the left wall, sliding past the other combatants. The Laguz guards only noticed his presence when he spun into their midst like a deadly whirlwind, his scythe broken out into two razor sharp sickles. Thrown into disarray, even the normally fearless hawk warriors found themselves in full retreat, trying to escape the deadly arcs of Symphony's unusual weapons.

One unfortunate hawk put his back to Severa and tried to soar upward. The lancer thrust Passion upward, impaling the hawk's right wing and eliciting an agonized scream. Severa then pivoted quickly, swinging the lance overhead and slamming the wounded hawk into the ground, knocking him out cold.

A few steps ahead, Symphony pulled back before the rest of the Laguz could regroup, knowing that his momentum was spent. Harmony, too, dealt one last blow to the nearest hawk with her own blade before retreating. In the span of less than a minute, three of the Laguz had been dispatched, and two of the remaining five bore at least one visible wound.

"Go get help!" one of the surviving Laguz, evidently the leader, ordered.

And then a hauntingly melodic voice filled the air, softly singing a song in a language that none of the combatants on either side understood. The hypnotic voice seemed to steal the strength from the hawk guards; one hawk turned to flee, possibly following his leader's instructions, but his movements were strangely sluggish, and Harmony was quick to strike him down.

The battle was over soon after, with Lucina leading the charge as soon as she saw her opponents incapacitated by the hypnotic noise. When the last hawk crumpled to the floor, knocked out by the shaft of Severa's lance, all four of Belle's companions turned to her and stared, entranced, as she finished her mysterious song.

"What did you _do_ to them?" Severa asked, impressed.

" _Galdr_ ," Harmony whispered in awe.

Belle only stared at the fallen Laguz, some of who were clearly dead, or at least dying. " _Galdr_ , yes," she said, sounding distant. "Though I've never used one in battle before… I've never been _in_ a battle before."

"If this goes well, maybe you'll never have to be in a battle again," Lucina offered sympathetically.

"Yeah. It looks like Morgan was right," Severa said. "The rebels have less than a thousand soldiers. Eight guards milling around an empty castle is eight guards too many when their home is under attack, and I don't think we were unlucky enough to run straight into the only guards here."

"If you're right, then there are still more guards hanging around here. We should get moving," Symphony urged impatiently, as he nudged one of the fallen Laguz lightly with his boot. "Some of them are still alive. Unless we're finishing them off, they'll come around sooner or later. Besides, if there _are_ other patrols, these guys will be missed pretty quickly."

As if to confirm their fears, a loud, metallic clattering noise rang out suddenly, echoing down the long hallways.

Without another word, Belle set off once more in the direction of the dungeon, her companions following close behind.

* * *

Owain grimaced as carefully swept the pieces of the shattered lock aside. He had been fortunate enough to avoid any other guards on his way to the end of the disused hallway, but his luck ran dry when he found the small, yet heavy door locked. If there were other guards patrolling the castle's corridors, there was no way the racket he had made could have gone unnoticed.

Reasoning that it was too late to worry, Owain tugged the door open, revealing a narrow stone staircase. The thick dust lying atop the steps appeared to have been recently disturbed, confirming his suspicions that the guards had either been lying to him, or deceived themselves. "Hello?" Owain called out. "Is anyone down there?"

When no one answered, Owain shrugged and made his way down the precarious steps with his torch held high, doing his best to ignore the stale and musty scent that greeted him.

When he reached the bottom, he moved his torch steadily in a wide arc, shining a light upon cells lined with rusty metal bars. "Empty… empty… empty…" Owain whispered to himself, as he checked cell after cell.

Then the torchlight glinted off of something far shinier, catching Owain's attention. Something in the shape of an armored man, standing twenty paces away.

"Hello?" Owain called out again.

At the sound of his voice, the armored silhouette began moving towards him with a loud clanking noise.

"Uh… are you Prince Valent?" Owain stammered, as he tried to get a clear look at the approaching figure's face. "If you are, then know that I am Owain, a hero of a distant land, come to your aid!"

Only then did Owain catch a glimpse of the phantom's skull-like visage.

"Uh oh."

The silvery phantom lunged at Owain with both hands outstretched. In a panic, Owain stumbled away, slapping at one of the phantom's gauntlets with his sword, but losing his grip on his torch in the process. "Back, you villainous emissary of the false sovereign! Back, I say!" Owain cried out.

His meager attack proved grossly insufficient, and the phantom didn't as much as slow its advance. The silver fists hammered downward just as Owain skittered aside, causing the entire floor to vibrate. Seeing the opportunity, the young swordsman leapt to his feet gracefully and slashed his sword overhead, grasping the hilt tightly in both hands.

The phantom was already rising once more, and Owain's sword struck against the back of the phantom's breastplate instead of its neck, deflecting wide after leaving a large dent. Owain was quick to strike again, this time sending his blade thrusting low.

And once again, the phantom simply ignored the blow. Its gauntlets surged with shimmering sapphire flames. It punched forward with its right gauntlet, before following through with a quick step forward and a clean uppercut. Though Owain managed to step aside in time, the flames flared outward, igniting the collar of Owain's shirt. As he stumbled back once more, he bumped into the wall and realized he had been cornered. Desperately, Owain sprinted past the phantom, narrowly avoiding another blow, before batting furiously at the flames. Distracted, and with his torch lying a fair distance away, he did not notice the approaching bars of the nearest cell until he slammed into them, face first. "Ouch!"

A weary groan from the farthest corner of the dungeon answered his pained outburst, distracting him from his the pain. But before he could say anything, a heavy gauntlet caught him in the back, hurling him painfully into the cell bars once more.

Ignoring the pain coursing through him, Owain reached up with his left hand, grasping one of the cell bars as he retrieved his weapon in his sword hand. "Repent, foul abomination of the dark arts!" Owain roared at the top of his lungs, pulling himself up suddenly and kicking off the iron bar.

The rusted metal caved behind him as Owain pushed off of the bar with his foot, hurling himself into the air. He turned as he fell upon the phantom, his blade slicing into, and through, the phantom's neck. Both combatants tumbled to the ground, though Owain was quick to hop to his feet. "Hah!" he proclaimed triumphantly, as he eyed the phantom's remains.

In answer, sapphire flames surged forth once more, enveloping the fallen pieces of armor. "Whoa!" Owain exclaimed, backing away hurriedly.

A second later, the phantom's fragments exploded outright, sending waves of sparking blue fire rippling outward. Owain tumbled backward to the ground, shielding his face with both arms, as the metal bars of the nearby prison cells groaned in protest and melted under the heat of the flames.

When the flames died away at last, a severely singed Owain staggered to his feet, dazed. He would've stood there for several seconds longer had a voice not called out to him then.

"Come on, Lister! Did you really think depriving me of sleep would get you anywhere when starving me didn't? Maybe you should have asked that damnable mage to give you a new brain to go with your new face!" someone jeered from the corner cell.

"Prince Valent?" Owain asked in a hopeful tone.

The prisoner remained silent for several seconds.

"Who are you? You're not Lister," the prisoner finally said.

Ignoring his charred clothing, Owain hastily reclaimed his torch and raised it in the direction of the voice.

"Hey!" the prisoner protested, as the light shined directly into his eyes. "That stings!"

"Sorry," Owain apologized, as he lowered the torch a bit. Still, the light was enough to reveal a man with long, messy dark hair, clothed in a ragged green shirt. The man's complexion seemed unnaturally pale, and between that and the rather gaunt face, the captive appeared deathly ill. "Prince Valent?" Owain asked hesitantly.

"A Beorc?" Valent asked, startled. Then his eyes narrowed. "Are you one of those mercenaries Lister was gloating about?"

"Mercenary? Bah! Owain stands for honor and justice alone! The weight of coin alone will not swing my blade!" Owain stated proudly.

Valent only stared at him blankly.

Owain sighed. "You _are_ Prince Valent, right? King Phoenicis sent us to rescue you."

"Strife sent you?" Valent said excitedly, hopping to his feet immediately. "Wait… us?"

"I was separated from my friends," Owain admitted. "But never mind that, we have to get you out here."

"No arguments there," Valent agreed. "Do you have the key?"

Owain shook his head. "There is no need for that. Far too many foes remain between us and liberty, but fear not, my friend! Our omniscient tactical mastermind has provided us with a far safer means of egress!" Owain declared, as he drew his pouch of warp powder. He offered the small drawstring pouch to the curious hawk, but hesitated as he noticed the flaw in his plan.

"What is it?" Valent said, eyeing the pouch suspiciously.

"Warp powder," Owain replied, making his decision quickly and dropping the pouch into Valent's palm. "Simply focus upon the main hall of Castle Kilvas and cast the powder at your feet, and its magic shall carry you on to your waiting sanctuary!"

"This better not be a joke," Valent said, as he opened the pouch and reached for the powder within.

"There is no jest in my words, I assure you," Owain reassured. "It is with this very powder that my companions and I were able to travel here."

Valent lifted the powder, but stopped abruptly. "Wait a moment. How are _you_ planning to get out, then?"

Owain cringed. "I… uh… don't really know," he admitted. "I'll have to search the castle for my companions, I suppose. My cousin was carrying the extra warp powder."

Valent stared at him for a moment longer before shaking his head. "Forget it. I'm not leaving someone here to be captured in my stead," he said.

"What!? No! We have to get you out of here! That is our mission, the objective lying behind strenuous trials and grueling challenges!" Owain argued. "You have to go, now, before the guards find us!"

"And what happens when the guards find _you_?" Valent pointed out stubbornly. "I've got an idea. Get me out of this cell," he demanded when Owain couldn't find a suitable response.

Obediently, Owain drew his sword and began hacking at the lock, trying to ignore the awful din. "What now?" he asked, as the cell door swung open and Valent stepped out, flexing his feathery wings.

"Now we search for your companions together," Valent said with a cocky grin.

"I have no idea where they are, only that they are searching for you, too," Owain pointed out.

"Fine. Then we wait for them to get here and leave together," Valent said with a yawn.

Owain frowned, pondering his options. "Fine, but if the guards show up first, you have to use the warp powder to escape," Owain said.

"No thanks," Valent said, grinning broadly. "If the guards show up, either they'll know Lister's a fraud and help us find your friends, or I'll wring their scrawny, treacherous necks."

Owain began to protest again, but found himself unable to argue with Valent's confident smile. "Very well," Owain said dramatically. "Together, you and I shall stand against the endless tides of the ruthless tyrant's army!"

"That's the spirit," Valent nodded approvingly.

* * *

Flying a few hundred feet off the southern Phoenician coastline, Morgan continued to study the rebel soldiers carefully, watching as they huddled defensively around their ballistae. Half an hour earlier, they had fired off the remaining siege weapons defiantly. Futilely, as Morgan had already estimated their range accurately, and positioned her small band just beyond their reach. The rest of the Phoenician defensive line had settled, too, with the attacking forces in the north and east sections falling back and holding their positions a safe distance away. "This is just a glorified staring contest now," she muttered, growing bored.

"It's what you planned for," Soren reminded.

"I know, but it's still boring," Morgan said with a sigh. Her gaze swept the Phoenician lines once more, before locking onto one of the ruined ballistae. In an effort to alleviate her boredom, she decided to take her staring contest metaphor literally, and kept her unblinking gaze fixated upon it.

"I think it's time we return to Kilvas," Soren said abruptly, breaking the silence and startling Morgan.

"Why do you say that?" Morgan asked, her teeth chattering slightly.

"Our strike force should have recovered and come out of hiding over an hour ago," Soren reasoned. "They may have already returned to Kilvas, even. Our presence here no longer has any bearing upon our mission."

"I don't know," Morgan said, sounding unsure. "Maybe they had to travel farther than we estimated, and needed more time to recuperate. Maybe we should wait for another hour, just to be safe."

Soren sighed, and looked to be annoyed by something. "You're shivering," he stated flatly.

"I am?" Morgan asked, sounding surprised. She looked down at her hands instinctively, and only then realized how cold she felt. "Oh. I guess it is kind of cold out here. I'll be alright, though," she insisted.

"It's time to turn back, Morgan," Soren said, ignoring her protests. "Even late in the summer, the night can grow cold, especially high in the sky and near the coast. Your Pegasus can weather the cold thanks to her fur, but our soldiers remain susceptible to the chill."

Morgan glanced back at her soldiers, and for the first time, she noticed that they were in perpetual motion, flying back and forth to keep their blood pumping. Morgan knew Soren was right – sooner or later, fatigue would set in.

"I guess you're right," she finally admitted, with a fleeting glance in the direction of Phoenicis Hall.

With another sigh, Soren reached into his pack and extracted a thick quilt. Ignoring the younger tactician's protests, he draped it around her shoulders. "I'd rather not assume responsibility for this army on account of my predecessor freezing to death," he explained sourly.

* * *

"How much farther?" Severa demanded, panting slightly, as she and her companions raced down the tunnels. There was no longer any pretense of stealth. With the lone exception of Belle, who remained airborne, flying a few paces in front of her companions, their footsteps thundered loudly against the stone floor.

Loud wingbeats echoed down the halls behind them as the Laguz guards following them continued their relentless pursuit.

"Not far," Belle promised, as she led them around another corner.

"How long will you need to pick the lock?" Symphony asked, glancing behind him as he spoke. "We have maybe a thirty second lead on our pursuers, at best."

"Thirty seconds is more than enough," Harmony assured, as she passed their torch to her brother.

They turned another corner and spotted the prison door at the end of the hall, left ajar. "Never mind that, Lister must have left it unlocked," Belle said, sounding relieved.

They stormed down the final hallway and through the door. Lucina slammed the door shut behind them, but there was no way to bar it, and neither she nor her companions had noticed the broken lock lying on the floor on the other side. "Hurry," Lucina urged, as they sprinted down the steps. A muffled, incensed cry reached them even through the heavy barrier.

"They went into the dungeon! Hurry!"

"I hope your guess was right, Morgan," Severa whispered, as she slid past Belle and raced ahead, lance drawn. "If Valent isn't here, this was all just a huge waste of…"

Before she could finish her sentence, a torch flared brightly, blinding her.

"Yield, in the name of the true prince of Phoenicis and his humble protector, who wields a shard of midnight's darkness itself!" Owain proclaimed loudly. Only then did he realize who he was accosting. With a loud gulp, he retracted his blade and quickly fell silent.

"Not one of my people. No wings," Valent pointed out, as he leaned against one of the few undamaged cells, gnawing on the strip of jerky that Owain had pilfered from the kitchen larder earlier. "Is she one of your friends?"

"Umm… yes… friends… maybe?" Owain stammered, retreating several steps. "Hi, Severa," he managed meekly.

"Owain!? Why are you still here? You were supposed to warp back to Kilvas if we got separated!" Severa said, glowering fiercely at the young swordsman.

"Not now, we've got every guard in the castle on our tail," Lucina insisted, pushing past her best friend. She grabbed the large pouch of warp powder Morgan had given her and quickly extracted a small handful. "Prince Valent, this is for you," she said, offering the warp powder to Valent. "Just cast it down at…"

"Owain already explained it to me," Valent interrupted smoothly as he brushed off his hands. His face brightened as the rest of his rescuers arrived. "Long time no see, Felicia. Good to see you too, Belle. How's everyone doing?" he asked, waving cheerily.

"Everyone else made it to Kilvas safely," Belle replied. "Are you alright, Valent?"

"More or less, though I haven't had anything to eat in the past week, save for the bit of jerky your friend brought me," Valent said nonchalantly, accepting the warp powder Lucina was holding out to him before returning Owain's small pouch.

A loud slam echoed through the prison, stemming from the forcefully opened door.

"Time to go," Harmony interrupted quickly.

"Regroup in Castle Kilvas's main hall," Lucina instructed. Then, she, Symphony, and Harmony threw down their warp powder in unison, conjuring their escape route.

"That's the drab, gloomy castle on the _other_ island, by the way," Severa reminded sternly, with a hard stare at Owain. "Not the one we're standing in, and not the fancy palace back in Begnion."

Owain nodded nervously. "In the main hall," he agreed, before invoking his own warp powder. Severa, Belle, and Valent followed suit.

When the guards reached the bottommost step, they caught only a fleeting glimpse of their emaciated prince before Valent disappeared into his magical rift, waving cheerfully at them.

* * *

Morgan felt slightly ridiculous with a blanket wrapped around her, but she did her best to put it out of mind as Celera finished her report. "So we eliminated _two_ of their commanders," she said with an approving nod. "As well as about two hundred enemy soldiers, and almost half of their ballistae."

"Sustaining only about fifty casualties in total," Strife added.

"It will only take them a day or two to repair the ballistae if that is their intent," Soren warned.

Strife shrugged, unconcerned. "We did what we set out to do. Our enemies were thoroughly distracted, and our own forces remain relatively intact. You made the right call, Morgan. A few of my men were disappointed when I ordered the retreat, but there were also several who appeared visibly relieved. They may remain loyal, but doubt and confusion persists."

"That, or they were simply relieved that we weren't dooming them to be frozen to death," Soren said, rolling his eyes.

"Once they see the real Prince Valent, we'll put any remaining doubt and confusion to rest," Morgan assured, doing her best to ignore Soren.

"That's assuming your initial guess was correct," Soren reminded. "If you were wrong, and the prince was being held somewhere else, this was an exercise in futility."

"That's not true," Cordelia, who was gliding alongside them, interrupted. "Even if we weren't able to rescue the prince, this battle was a clean victory for us."

"I suppose," Soren conceded. "And it would have been cleaner still if our northern division had adhered to their orders," Soren added, staring pointedly at Celera. Nearly all of the casualties they had sustained were during the battle between Celera and the enemy hawk commander she had challenged.

"And back down from _Skylar_?" Celera asked incredulously.

"It's alright," Strife cut in soothingly. "The battle worked out in our favor. A few losses were inevitable, anyways, and even in the most costly battles, our enemies lost at least two soldiers for every casualty we suffered. You did well, Nighthawk. Even if we weren't able to rescue Valent tonight, we may have at least dissuaded Lister from attacking tomorrow. If he chooses to attack anyways, our advantage will be even greater now."

Morgan nodded agreeably, then looked back towards the rest of their Laguz army. Spirits seemed extraordinarily high despite the late hour, and the soldiers showed no signs of exhaustion as they swapped tales of their recently-fought skirmishes. Still, in spite of her earlier optimism, Morgan couldn't help but feel slightly guilty. If her guess was wrong, any victory they had found that night was minor at best and hardly worth the effort, no matter how cleanly executed the battle had been.

"Second guessing yourself?" Soren said quietly, interrupting her thoughts.

"Just a little bit," Morgan admitted readily.

"Don't," Soren advised. "It might be too early to celebrate while the complete outcome remains unknown, but your plan was well-conceived. It was the best course of action available based on what we knew."

"Yeah," Morgan agreed without enthusiasm. "Still…"

"Don't worry about it. Your plan worked," Strife assured. "Look."

Obediently, Morgan turned and stared in the direction the raven king was pointing, and after several seconds, she could barely make out the faint outline of Castle Kilvas, standing below them and about a mile to the east.

But Celera had seen what Morgan could not. "Look! It's Valent!" she cried ecstatically, before transforming into a hawk and soaring ahead and out of sight.


	11. Chapter 7

**~ Chapter 7 ~**

A soft shimmering noise, akin to hundreds of wind chimes ringing in a gentle breeze, accompanied a bright flash of magical light. The light then dimmed slowly as the rift faded away, gradually revealing its conjurer: an aged spirit charmer clad in an elegant crimson robe, trimmed with elaborate golden patterns.

Relic stoically surveyed his surroundings, a dim room lit only by diminutive specks of flame stemming from a thin candles. The candles flickered as a particularly strong breeze blew through the open window, rustling the worn lavender curtains. Delicate, crystalline flakes of snow wafted through the room, fleeing the howling storm outside. Neither Relic nor the room's only other occupant seemed to notice the frigid air that followed.

"What is it that you hear?" Charon whispered, staring down at the small, unassuming bronze medallion laying in his armored palm. Even alone, at the fringe of the world, the Redeemer's mighty leader remained fully armored with his brutal great sword within easy reach. "Sing to me. Let me share in your chorus of chaos. Oh, Fire Emblem, my shard of entropy, consecrate me in the raging fires of war."

His gauntlet closed upon the Fire Emblem then, and he could feel a flurry of emotions swirling within, growing stronger with each passing day. And yet, it was not enough. "Damn you, Tantalus," Charon hissed, as anger rose within him, resonating with the power of the medallion. "Damn you and your wretched, petty vanity."

Behind him, Relic continued to stare silently, waiting deferentially for Charon to acknowledge his presence, masking any of his own thoughts behind his perpetually, cryptically blank expression. For nearly a full minute, both men remained silent.

Finally, Charon spoke. "Did you need something from me?" he asked, though his gaze remained fixated upon the medallion he held.

"Your orders are delivered," Relic announced calmly. "Dissolution's seed is planted."

"What of Medea?" Charon asked.

"The dagger is poised," Relic said solemnly.

Charon nodded, satisfied. "Good. Thank you, Lord Relic." Charon then rose to his feet, and paced a few small circles before stopping, facing the large, open window and staring at nothing in particular. The veiling storm kept him from seeing anything more than the falling snow, but even had the weather been clear, there would have been very little to see beyond the barren, rocky cliffs among which his sanctuary had been built. "I believe our efforts in Daein will go unrewarded. They are too occupied with the immediate threat that Extinction poses. Thankfully, that alone may suffice; perhaps Tantalus's traitorous actions will be to our advantage, after all."

"Redemption's path shall endure," Relic agreed.

"Nevertheless, we've expended most of our options," Charon said grimly. "Turning Daein against Begnion or Phoenicis would have been difficult enough task even before the advent of Extinction. What do you think? What should our next move be?"

Relic shook his head slowly. "Patience is our course."

"There are too many seeking to unwind our efforts," Charon said doubtfully. "The dragon king is rousing his people even as Begnion marches to Daein's aid. If we remain idle, we may never find the momentum we need."

"Rash actions beget failure," Relic warned. "Move in measured paces."

For a moment, Charon remained silent, measuring his partner's words. He then let out a reluctant sigh. "I suppose you're right. We have made many gains already that we cannot put at risk."

A loud rapping noise sounded against the room's fine, oaken door.

"Enter," Charon instructed.

The door swung open, admitting a young man clad in black armor, who removed his helmet deferentially. He looked surprised to find Relic standing beside Charon. "Lord Charon, Lord Relic, I bring word from Phoenicis," he greeted. "King Phoenicis' forces attacked Phoenicis last night. Prince Valent was rescued amidst the confusion. The rebellion is beginning to collapse under the weight of rumors."

"Our fears are realized," Relic said grimly.

"Disappointing, but not entirely unexpected," Charon agreed. "The hot-tempered fool was well-suited to our purposes, but we knew from the beginning that, left to his own devices, he would be quickly outmaneuvered by the raven king. Tibarn chose his successor well."

"Victory remains within reach," Relic suggested, after a moment's thought. "Embers of discord remain."

"You're right. The situation can still be salvaged," Charon conceded. "Lord Relic... you know what must be done."

"Flames shall be fostered," Relic promised, dipping his head in a respectful bow.

* * *

The wooden shutters of Castle Kilvas's windows proved grossly inefficient, and the dawn's first rays peeked through, stirring Morgan from her sleep. She made an incoherent, grumbling noise before turning and burying her face firmly into her pillow.

As she was drifting off once more, memories of the night before flitted through her mind. Their celebration had been abruptly cut short at Strife's insistence, who feared possible retribution from Lister and his stubborn supporters.

Suddenly Morgan didn't feel so tired any more. She hopped to her feet, and after a quick glance at the window to verify that the sun was indeed up, she rushed over to her roommate's bed. "Severa, wake up!" Morgan said eagerly, trying to rouse her sister.

"Go back to bed, Morgan," Severa murmured sleepily, before drawing her sheets over her head.

After several more minutes, Morgan finally relented, and quickly dressed before setting off on her own. She first tried the meeting room where they had prepared their battle plans the day before, but found the room deserted. After that, she found herself wandering through the empty hallways aimlessly, though she didn't encounter anyone until she happened across a comfortably furnished lounge.

"Morgan!" Valent greeted heartily through a mouthful of food, waving eagerly. A large plate laden with dried berries, raw vegetables, and roasted meat rested on the table before him.

"Good morning, Morgan. Would you care to join us?" Strife, who was sitting across from Valent, invited politely. Morgan obediently seated herself on a nearby couch as Strife turned back to Valent, grinning wryly. "It's a good thing your palate isn't nearly as discriminating as your father's. If I hadn't sent hunters to the mainland in search of fresh meat, he probably would have starved to death."

"After being locked up without food for so long, one can stomach just about anything," Valent replied, reaching for a handful of berries.

"Morgan, there's plenty more if you're hungry," Strife offered, gesturing toward a large platter on a nearby table.

"Maybe later," Morgan declined.

"Alright. Well, since we didn't have time for formal introductions last night, this is Prince Valent, Tibarn's firstborn son and a close friend of mine," Strife introduced.

"Thanks for getting me out of there. Strife told me you were the one who came up with the idea of breaking in like that," Valent said.

"I helped a bit," Morgan said modestly. "But King Phoenicis and Soren were there, too. In fact, King Phoenicis led the battle personally."

"The battle was only smoke and mirrors, anyways," Strife said dismissively. "If it wasn't for you, we'd still be cowering in defensive positions around Kilvas, wondering where Valent was."

"Now that their defenses are in tatters, I'd say it's Lister's turn to be cowering," Valent suggested. "So, when are we taking back our home?"

"Patience," Strife soothed. "Over a hundred of our people, including a score of soldiers, arrived here in Kilvas throughout the night. When we announce your safe return publicly and confirm the rumors of Lister's treachery, we will strip Lister of most of his support."

"When is that happening?" Morgan asked.

"Later this morning, assuming Valent can make himself presentable in time," Strife said. His lips curled into a sly smile. "On second thought, don't. We need you to be recognizable, don't we?"

Far from being offended, Valent only let out a hearty laugh and merrily went on with his meal.

"This war should be over pretty soon, then," Morgan said optimistically.

"Indeed," Strife agreed. "Lister might be too proud to surrender outright, but he doesn't have many options left. Even if he is stubborn enough to stand against us still, with his own followers turning against one another, it should not amount to much. I suspect he will simply flee."

* * *

"You dare!?" Lister cried angrily. He lunged forth, grasping the offending hawk by the shoulders. With a forceful shove, he threw his unfortunate victim to the ground. There was a loud thud, and the fallen Laguz let out a whimper of pain.

His brutality only elicited enraged outbursts from others in the crowd around him. Unafraid, Lister advanced calmly upon his prone victim. "Say it again," Lister hissed. Those gathered around him fell silent, wanting to hear his every word, and the victim's accusation once more. "Speak your foul, false accusations once more, you traitorous wretch."

The fallen hawk soldier looked up, and for one, brief moment, his face shined with terror. His anger returned quickly, though, and he steeled himself before proclaiming his accusation loudly for all to hear. "You're an imposter and traitor to the throne! You imprisoned the _real_ Prince Valent all along! You lied to us all, to turn us against..."

Lister had heard enough. He seized the fallen man by the throat. The sickening crack as Lister snapped the man's neck could barely be heard over the renewed protests.

With a concerted roar, the crowd surged forward, swarming Lister. Lister was quick to react, transforming and taking to the skies. The other Laguz transformed to follow, but Lister didn't run, and instead met his former allies head on. One by one, the rebellious hawks crashed unceremoniously to the ground.

A victorious Lister swooped to the ground, seizing the closest of his victims, a young hawk woman. "Look at me," Lister demanded fiercely. "Do you truly not recognize the face of your prince, of your rightful king?"

The young woman only looked at him in terror and shook her head.

"Beorc magic," someone else mumbled, and others echoed that sentiment.

"Fools!" Lister cried out, exasperated. He flung the young woman to the ground and transformed again, setting off towards Phoenicis Hall.

Lister found himself growing angrier with each beat of his wings. Astor was gone, outmaneuvered by the Begnion Pegasus knights, supposedly. Skylar, too, had disappeared, lost amidst the chaotic battle in the north. There were others who knew the truth, and who had helped him capture and imprison Valent to begin with, but they were of little value to him now, Lister realized grimly. Now that riots had broken out all across Phoenicis, his fellow co-conspirators were distinctly absent. "Spineless bastards," Lister grumbled, fleeing towards his castle.

* * *

"I don't remember this being part of your script," Morgan observed, not bothering to hide her amusement.

Almost all of Phoenicis had gathered around Castle Kilvas to witness the return of their missing prince. Valent obliged them willingly and stepped out onto the balcony, accompanied only by his sister. But instead of addressing their people as Strife had asked, he simply leapt off the balcony with an excited cheer, transforming and swooping down to the crowds below. Celera followed immediately, and only seconds later, the air was thick with feathers as an impromptu parade formed, cheered on by the few who remained on the ground below.

"Scripts only go so far when Valent or Celera are involved," Strife chuckled.

"Oh, let them have their fun," Belle chided.

"They act as if the war is already won," Soren said, shaking his head. "Though at least it's good for morale."

"The war _is_ already won, isn't it?" Severa pointed out. "That's what you said back in Begnion, I thought."

"I guessed that our enemies would fall apart, yes," Soren said. "At this point, our victory is essentially assured. Still, if Lister is as foolish as we've been led to believe, then he may choose to press on. It would be defiant, not to mention stupid, but it's certainly a possibility."

"I don't think so," Strife disagreed. "If it was up to Lister alone, perhaps. He's certainly proud and stubborn enough, but I don't believe he could have orchestrated this coup by himself. With his mistrust of the Beorc, I doubt he would have agreed to an alliance with the Redeemers on his own; his trusted friends must have pushed him towards it. Those same advisors should realize that their bid for the throne has failed."

"They would have to be pretty stupid not to," Severa said.

Morgan was about to agree, when a troubling thought occurred to her. "What if his advisors are dead?" she asked hesitantly.

"You're thinking of the commander Celera took down last night, aren't you? Don't worry. Skylar wasn't much brighter than Lister, and was even less trusting of the Beorc," Strife assured. "If anything, Skylar's death will make it more likely for Lister to listen to reason."

With a shrug, Morgan let the matter drop, not wanting to dampen the mood. "Well, that's good." She peered out at the lively celebration outside, which showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. "I think I'll check on Catria. She must be tired after last night," Morgan said, suddenly feeling an urge to be away from the crowd and excitement.

"Don't worry. Mom went down to the stables after breakfast, remember? I'm sure she'll look after both Pegasi," Severa assured.

"Still…" Morgan said, fumbling about for an excuse. Lost for words, she gave up, and only shrugged before silently excusing herself.

Her discomfort had not escaped unnoticed. Severa stared at the hallway, worried. "What's gotten into you, Morgan?" she whispered.

"She's afraid that we made a mistake last night in eliminating the commander of Lister's southern defenses."

Severa turned to Soren, surprised that the branded had overheard her over the uproarious celebration below. She found the mage leaning against a nearby support column, in a relaxed posture with his eyes closed. "How could that have been a mistake?" Severa prompted, when Soren remained silent.

"Because of the three commanders we faced in battle last night, only the southern commander demonstrated any semblance of strategy. By eliminating him, we may have also stripped Lister of a key advisor," Soren explained. "That may lead to Lister making rash and strategically unsound decisions."

"You still think Lister will attack?" Belle said hesitantly.

"It's possible," Soren admitted. "But that's why our scouts are still watching Phoenicis closely. Our enemy has never been entirely predictable."

"You don't seem too concerned," Severa noted.

"I'm not. Lister attacking again would have been a possibility, regardless of whether his commanders survived," Soren pointed out. "Morgan's overthinking it and worrying herself over nothing. We can't see the future; we can only make the best decisions we can with the information available to us, and acknowledge and plan for the worst possible outcomes."

"Still, I guess she's upset that it might come back to haunt us, whether or not it was the best decision at the time," Severa said worriedly.

"Then that would be rather silly of her," Soren said uncaringly. "Besides, it wasn't even really her decision. I'm the one who suggested altering our plans last night."

Belle, who had grown tired of the grim mood, decided to change the subject. "Well, if Lister does attack us again, I'll make sure Valent knows who to thank for the chance to tear Lister's head off," she teased, wearing a wide smile.

"Ah, yes, unearned credit for an enemy's terrible decisions. Just what I was after," Soren retorted sarcastically.

* * *

Cordelia smiled with relief as she watched the two Pegasi approach the feeding trough. "I'm sorry, girls," she apologized. She slid a small wooden stool up to the younger Pegasus and seated herself, retrieving her hairbrush from her pouch as she went.

The older Pegasus let out an annoyed snort, as the younger of the two stared at her rider sadly.

"I know, I know," Cordelia sighed, as she gently stroked the younger Pegasus's mane. "They're a bit stale, but it's the best we can do out here. We should be glad they have stables at all; I don't think the Laguz keep horses of any kind. We'll find you some better food as soon as possible, okay?"

The door swung open behind her. "Hello, Mom," Morgan greeted cheerily.

"Hello, Morgan. How did the big speech go?" Cordelia asked absentmindedly.

"It turned into a wild party after about three seconds," Morgan replied, as she slipped a pouch from her bag. Both Pegasi turned to her immediately as a sugary aroma wafted through the musty air. "Here you go," she said, dumping an assortment of sweets into the feeding trough.

"Morgan!" Cordelia scolded gently, as the two Pegasi immediately began feasting on the sugary treats. "You know you're not supposed to feed Pegasi this much sugar. It's bad for their teeth."

"Yeah… but they weren't eating yesterday, and I was worried. The oats they had weren't just stale, they were _dusty_. A few cookies and sugar cubes won't hurt, will they?" Morgan pleaded. "Just look how happy they are!"

"I guess you're right," Cordelia said with another sigh. "But now they might start refusing their oats." She then shot a dirty look at the Pegasi, who were carefully picking out the sweets from the old oats. Both of the beautiful equines studiously avoided her gaze.

"I wouldn't eat those oats either," Morgan chimed in. "Do you have another brush with you?" She pulled up a stool herself, and Cordelia passed over the brush she had been holding before retrieving a second one from her traveling pouch.

As the Pegasi continued to eat, Cordelia and Morgan worked in silence, carefully grooming their beloved mounts.

"Is everything okay, Morgan?" Cordelia asked abruptly, after several minutes passed.

"Of course," Morgan lied. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Cordelia smiled knowingly. "Your father gets that same look when he's worried about something," she explained. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

Morgan wavered indecisively as she tried to put her thoughts in order. "It's about last night's battle," she finally admitted. "I think we might have made a mistake in taking out the enemy commander."

"Why do you say that?" Cordelia asked curiously. "Was he someone important?"

"He might have been," Morgan said. "King Phoenicis said that Lister doesn't really trust Beorc, and wouldn't have agreed to an alliance with the Redeemers on his own. One of his advisors must have convinced him to go along with the Redeemers then, right?"

"If that's the case, then maybe they won't be working together anymore. That's a good thing, isn't it?" Cordelia said.

Morgan blew out a frustrated sigh. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "Maybe. But maybe Lister doesn't have anyone else to turn to, now. Maybe all that we've done… that _I've_ done, is make Lister a more efficient pawn for our enemies."

"I think you might be overthinking things a bit, Morgan," Cordelia said quietly, shaking her head.

"But what if I'm right?" Morgan protested, suddenly sounding frantic. "What if the Redeemers push Lister into rallying what's left of the rebels, and trying to invade Kilvas? How many people will end up paying for my mistake with their lives?"

"If you're right, then we should be preparing ourselves for another battle," Cordelia replied, maintaining her composure. "I would suggest asking King Phoenicis to keep scouts in place, watching over Phoenicis, but you already asked him to do that last night, didn't you?"

Morgan nodded sluggishly.

"Because you knew that our enemies attacking was a distinct possibility. You knew that our enemies were prideful and gullible, and prone to rash decision-making," Cordelia reminded.

"Well, yes, but…" Morgan began.

"The future isn't set in stone, Morgan," Cordelia said. "No one can ever be absolutely sure of what the future will bring. Even if Lister does attack, we'll never know whether leaving that enemy commander alive last night would have made a difference for the better. All we know is that you made the best decision you could."

"Did I?" Morgan asked sadly. "I don't know. Ever since leaving Ylisstol, nothing has gone the way I planned it. Nothing turns out even anything like what I expected. I feel… lost."

"This isn't just about the war here, is it?" Cordelia asked gently.

Sensing Morgan's distress, the two Pegasi whinnied softly. The young tactician said nothing, and only reached out to pet the older Pegasus absentmindedly.

"Morgan, your father and I were terrified when we first found the letter you left for us," Cordelia said. "We knew you could take care of yourself, but still, we couldn't help but worry. We had no idea what was out there, or where 'there' even was."

"You were right to worry," Morgan said listlessly.

"We felt quite guilty, too," Cordelia continued. "Finding Owain should never have been your responsibility, but we were all too busy with our own lives. Even Frederick and Lissa couldn't find time away from caring for the younger Owain, and could only do their best to pretend they weren't worried."

"It _was_ my responsibility. Owain's my friend," Morgan said defensively.

Cordelia nodded acceptingly, smiling warmly. "You kept on searching, even after everyone else gave up. When you found his trail, you decided to _make_ it your own responsibility."

"Only to get sidetracked once I reached Tellius," Morgan said dejectedly.

"Only because you saw trouble brewing for all of Tellius," Cordelia countered. "And you were right to try and help. If it wasn't for you, Daein wouldn't even know that Extinction is headed their way. If it wasn't for you, Prince Valent would still be a prisoner, or worse. Even if Lister were to muster his forces now and attack, the battle would be far cleaner than it would have been if we hadn't rescued Prince Valent and revealed the truth to everyone."

"If it wasn't for me, Priam and Soren would still be living quietly in Ylisse," Morgan said gloomily. "Instead, Priam's dead, and Soren was stripped of the closest thing he had to family."

"So not everything worked out perfectly," Cordelia said. "But they seldom do, especially in situations as volatile as this. You knew things could go wrong. Priam and Soren must have known the risks, too."

"I know," Morgan said with another sigh. "We talked about it before setting off from Daein. I know I can't blame myself for what happened in the tunnels, but…"

"But you're afraid that something else could go wrong," Cordelia guessed.

"Dad's safe enough back in Begnion, but Severa, Lucina, and Owain are still here. You and Catria are still here," Morgan said. "All your lives are at stake here, too, and if I make one mistake too many…" She trailed off helplessly, unable to complete the thought aloud.

"We're all just as worried for you as you are for us," Cordelia reminded. "You're in every bit as much danger as we are. More so, even, since you always pay more attention to everyone else's safety than your own. You gave Lucina and the others so many contingency plans that they probably forgot over half of them right away. How long did you spend planning our own part of the battle along the coastline?"

"About twenty minutes," Morgan admitted.

"We know there's a risk in us staying here, but we believe in you, Morgan. If anyone can keep us safe, you can, and we know you're doing the best you can," Cordelia said. "If that's not enough, then that's the way it is. But we trust you, and want to protect you just as much as you want to protect us, so there's not much choice to be had, is there? Unless you want to walk away from all this now. No one could blame you if you did."

"Walk away from it…" Morgan murmured dreamily. Thoughts of home tugged at her then, more tempting than ever. She had already found what she was searching for, and they had already done much to help the people of Tellius. Ylisse had its own share of troubles, too, especially now that Calamity hijacked and used the gateway her father had created.

But then memories of Queen Micaiah, King Kurthnaga, and Emperor Yashiro flowed to the front of her mind. Tellius was full of good people, doing their best to protect their homes. Chrom was more than capable of keeping Ylisse safe, and had allies and friends all throughout the continent standing by him. Tellius had enemies lurking in every shadow instead.

Cordelia smiled, noticing the change in expression. "You can't just walk away, can you?" she asked knowingly.

"No, I can't," Morgan confessed.

"Then it's best not to think too much about it," Cordelia suggested. "What's done is done. Learn from your mistakes, if there's anything to learned, and move on."

"What _have_ I learned?" Morgan asked, frowning thoughtfully. Letting the enemy commander escape unscathed wouldn't necessarily be any better, after all.

"Well, if you can't definitively know that there was a better choice to be made, then there's no sense dwelling on it further," Cordelia offered gently. "Instead of worrying about what we could have done differently, maybe we should be preparing for the worst."

"I don't know what else we can do," Morgan said with a helpless shrug. "Our scouts have been in position since last night, and we already prepared our plans for a defensive engagement if Lister _does_ attack us. According to King Strife, morale is a lot higher now, too, that there is no longer any doubt about Valent being in league with the rebels. We're about as ready now as we could ever be."

"See? That's why you don't see any of us worrying," Cordelia said with a reassuring smile. "You're doing fine, sweetheart."

As her mother's assurances finally took root, Morgan managed a small smile of her own. "I guess you're right. All this worrying isn't doing us any good, is it?" she said sheepishly. "Thanks, Mom."

"Feeling better?" Cordelia asked.

"Better," Morgan nodded, a hint of her normal cheeriness returning.

* * *

Absorbed in his thoughts, Lister trudged through the seemingly deserted Phoenicis Hall. Only after reaching the throne room and seating himself upon the throne did he realize he wasn't entirely alone. "What do you want now, Beorc?" Lister snarled.

"The time has come," Relic replied. "Dreams scattered in fragments."

Lister sighed, defeated. As much as he hated the Beorc sorcerer, he had no arguments left to offer. "Can you get me out of here?" he asked, spitting out each word with great reluctance.

Relic nodded slowly. "Raise the white flag," he suggested, holding out a pouch of warp powder.

Lister approached the old Beorc unhappily, and reached for the pouch.

"Flight of the Hawk," Relic said somberly, as he reached out and deposited the pouch in Lister's hand. "Triumph of the Raven."

Lister's eyes flashed dangerously. Then, without a second thought, he pushed Relic's offering aside. "No! I shall not flee like a beaten dog. Not from that miserable crow!" he cried.

"Strength supersedes determination alone," Relic reasoned, hiding his triumphant smile.

"I am stronger!" Lister bellowed. "Phoenicis belongs to the hawks, not the cowardly ravens, and not that unworthy fool of a prince! Phoenicis is mine!"

"By might and right," Relic agreed, tying his pouch of warp powder to his sash.

Relic's nonchalant agreement took Lister aback. Lister studied the cryptic Beorc carefully. "My forces hesitate," he finally said, shaking his head with disgust. Despite his bravado, the reality of the situation was not lost upon him. "They are afraid, and they squabble among themselves. My people have grown soft."

"Strength must foster unity," Relic admonished gently. "In unity, lies victory."

"Strength must foster unity…" Lister echoed thoughtfully. "Of course. Strength alone will inspire my people. Strength alone will guide them. It is the way of the hawk."

Relic nodded approvingly. "Your armies are waiting."

"What about your soldiers?" Lister asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. Even now, he didn't quite trust the Beorc mage or the soldiers in black, but he needed them more than ever.

Relic said nothing at first, and retained his passive expression, hiding his hesitation. The deluded would-be king had already lost, of course. If Lister was fortunate, he could rally perhaps half of the forces he had commanded the night before. At best, he would be outnumbered five-to-one, even as he attempted to assail a strong, defensive position. Trying to hold Phoenicis was equally ill-advised; the rumors would inevitably unravel any cohesion to be found among the rebelling Laguz.

Lister could not win, and those who followed the foolish hawk into battle would be similarly imperiled. Relic's first instinct was to withdraw his soldiers, but it seemed Lister had finally recognized his predicament. If the Redeemers were to leave now, the war could very well be at its end. "Redemption paved by sacrifices," Relic whispered.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lister demanded impatiently.

"Our march will continue," Relic replied, reaching to his sash for a smaller pouch resting beside the one containing his warp powder. He tossed the nondescript container to Lister. "From now unto victory."

Lister quickly flipped the pouch over, emptying it of its contents. A small, polished gemstone rolled into his hand. It took him a moment to recognize it, but when he did, a fierce grin spread across his face.

A sparkling Laguz gem.

* * *

Lister tried his best to hide his dismay as he continued his march across his Phoenicis. His entourage was quite intimidating; over a score of his Beorc wyvern riders had survived the previous night's raid, and followed him without any hesitation, and he had already managed to rally nearly two hundred of his loyal hawk soldiers. Still, there was a sullen, reluctant air about his Laguz warriors that disgusted the would-be monarch.

Their march stopped when they happened across a rally of some sort. Nearly three hundred hawks were gathered, though the bulk of them appeared to be civilians. At first, the dissenters froze, surprised by the unexpected appearance of the king. Then the first cry broke the silence, and with it, the calm.

"Traitor!" an older hawk cried out, a cry that was quickly taken up by dozens of others.

"Silence!" Lister roared. In unison, his wyvern riders drew their loaded crossbows and brandished them menacingly. The crowd quieted immediately, though most continued to stare daggers at Lister.

Unconcerned, Lister stepped forward proudly, until he was standing directly in front of the old hawk who had been the first to speak. "You believe me to be a traitor?" he asked, keeping his voice steady despite his mounting anger. "Me, and not my father, the former king who handed my throne to that worthless raven, Strife? Or do you subscribe to the petty rumors that I am somehow a fake, despite the evidence right before your eyes?"

Terrified, the old man shrank back.

Lister glared at him as he backed away, but did not pursue. Instead, he turned to address the rest of the crowd. "If you don't believe me to be Valent, son of Tibarn, our former king, and rightful heir to our throne, so be it. I don't understand how any of you could be deceived by a simple rumor when I am here, standing before you, but regardless, my identity is easily proven.

"Fly with me, my brethren. Together, we will confront Strife. If he will not surrender Kilvas to us of his own accord, then we shall seize it. And if they have somehow dummied up an imposter of me to throw us into disarray, I will find this imposter… and I will crush him," Lister promised. "Follow me now, join our people in our moment of triumph, and I will think nothing more of your blasphemy today. Or stay here if you choose, and forever suffer the taint of your foolish cowardice."

With that, he turned and marched on. Some of the dissenters held their ground and stared balefully at Lister as he left, but a few caved in, joining the battalion and doing their best to hide their reluctance.

* * *

After they finished tending to the two Pegasi, Morgan and Cordelia left the derelict stables together. The stables were located behind Castle Kilvas, just outside one of the castle's backdoors and quite a long walk away from the balcony where Morgan had left the others. The castle was even quieter than usual. The two of them were joined by a cheerful Owain, who had just awoken, but ran into no one else during their trek through the castle's long hallways.

"Welcome back," Strife called as he saw them approach the balcony once more, though his voice was almost entirely drowned out by the racket outside.

"Are they _still_ celebrating?" Morgan asked, surprised. She leaned over the edge of the balcony for a better look. Several of the Laguz, including Prince Valent himself, were now caught up in some sort of ball game that stretched all the way down the street. Several vendors had laid out odd assortments of snack foods. Hundreds of Laguz, hawk and raven alike, drifted about in the skies above.

"Of course. Unless we interrupt them, they'll probably be at it until long after sundown," Strife predicted.

"It's certainly a nice change in atmosphere," Cordelia said.

"Kilvas did seem a bit drab when you first arrived, didn't it?" Strife laughed.

Morgan turned around, searching for any sign of her other friends. Soren was still there, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, but both Severa and Belle were gone. "Where is everyone?" she asked.

"Felicia, and your friend, Lucina, arrived not long after you left. They went out to join the celebration, along with your sister and Belle," Strife said.

"Symphony and Harmony are down there, too," Nasir said, overhearing Strife as he joined them on the balcony.

"Well, what are we waiting for then?" Owain asked brightly. "Let's go join them, Morgan!"

"It sounds fun, but there's something I had to discuss with King Phoenicis first," Morgan said. "Why don't you go ahead?"

"Aww… come on, Morgan. It can wait a few hours, can't it?" Owain pleaded.

Morgan shook her head and smiled. "Sorry, it can't wait. I'll catch up to you later."

Owain looked at each of the others in turn. Nasir and Cordelia both declined without a second thought. Soren didn't even seem to notice him, and didn't so much as open his eyes. Owain only shrugged, unbothered, and set off alone as Morgan had suggested.

"Your words had a rather ominous ring to them," Strife remarked, when Owain was gone. "Should I be worried?"

"Probably not," Morgan said lightly. "Still… I was thinking about last night's battle. Even though we didn't kill many soldiers last night, we brought down Lister's commanders on the northern and southern front. If he's stuck relying on the Redeemers for advice, they might try to push him into attacking again, even without any hope of victory."

To her surprise, Strife was smiling, despite the grim possibility outlined. "Soren mentioned that risk already," he explained. "Though, frankly, I don't think it matters what Lister's advisors, Laguz or Beorc, want."

"Maybe we should revisit our plans for mounting a defense, just in case," Morgan said, her gaze wandering back to the carefree crowds below.

"There's no need for that," Soren said. "Our position is more or less unchanged from when we laid our plans yesterday afternoon. We have perhaps an extra hundred soldiers now, but that doesn't have a material impact on our situation."

"A hundred?" Morgan asked, startled.

"Our people have been streaming into Kilvas throughout the morning, having fled Phoenicis as soon as they heard the truth," Strife confirmed.

"Unless some of our soldiers wind up too drunk to fight, we have over two thousand soldiers already. It won't matter how we allocate a hundred additional soldiers at this point," Soren said.

"I guess you're right. It just feels weird to be doing nothing," Morgan said.

"Well, you could join your friends in their merrymaking," Nasir suggested. "Before you do, though, I've been meaning to ask, what is my part should another battle befall us?"

"Wherever you see fit," Soren said, answering before Morgan could. "Our battle plans are primarily concerned with distributing our army effectively. For the most part, we didn't bother trying to position our individual soldiers."

"We can't effectively predict how Lister will attack, assuming he attacks at all," Morgan explained. "My mother and I will try to help keep the wyvern riders at bay, but for everyone else who isn't already attached to one of our divisions, it's impossible for us to know now where they would be most effective."

"Ah. Is that why you were hesitant to include me in last night's raid?" Nasir asked.

"No. Morgan was worried that if you joined in the attack, it could create the perception that Goldoa was taking sides in the war," Soren corrected.

"It's different if they attack us… I think," Morgan said, sounding a bit wishful.

"For the politically inclined, perhaps. For Lister? I doubt it," Strife said. "But I'm sure King Goldoa would respect your efforts nonetheless, Morgan."

"Well then, in that case, allow me to join you and your mother in contending with our enemy's wyvern riders," Nasir requested, bowing his head politely.

"Sure," Morgan agreed easily.

A hawk suddenly swooped down to the balcony and transformed into a young man. He looked haggard, as if he had been flying for hours. Morgan snuck an uneasy glance at Strife. The Phoenician king's expression confirmed her fears.

"K-King Phoenicis," the scout greeted, stammering slightly and panting for air.

"Welcome home. What's the situation in Phoenicis?" Strife asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Prince Valent's imposter was mobilizing once more," the scout reported, after taking a deep breath. "We set off as soon as he announced his intentions."

"Where are the others?" Strife asked, concerned for the rest of his scouts.

"They'll be here soon. I was faster, and we thought it best to let you know as soon as possible," the scout explained. "Many of the rebels have already deserted, and many more are no longer loyal to the imposter, but our best guess is that he will still be able to amass three to four hundred soldiers."

"What of the Redeemers? The Beorc soldiers," Morgan asked.

"At least a score of the wyvern riders remain, and they follow the imposter still. The ballistae have been abandoned; there is no sign of the soldiers that were manning them the night before," the scout replied.

"It's a four-hour flight between the islands. Longer for the army than our scouts, too, as Lister would have to avoid tiring his soldiers out," Strife estimated. "We should have at least two hours to prepare."

"Two hours isn't much," Soren said, joining the conversation at last. "We have to regroup our soldiers and move them into position as soon as possible."

"We should also try to wind down the celebration and evacuate the civilians," Morgan added.

"We will," Strife promised, before turning to the scout. "You and your companions have performed admirably, Davis. Go and get some rest. Stay clear of the fighting if you have to."

The scout appeared surprised and gratified that his king knew his name. "Thank you, Your Majesty, but I think I'll be ready to fight by the time our traitorous enemies arrive."

"Only if you're up for it. Don't push yourself too hard," Strife said. "Morgan, Soren. I will go spread the word. General Tarn will be along shortly; if you want to make any last minute changes to our plans, let him know, alright?"

"Alright," Morgan agreed. Soren only shrugged and closed his eyes before leaning against the pillar once more.

Unfurling his black-feathered wings, Strife hopped up over the balcony's rail and soared off into the throng.


	12. Chapter 8

**~ Chapter 8 ~**

Lister couldn't help but feel disappointed when he and his soldiers reached the shores of Kilvas uncontested. He had half-expected his enemies to fly out and meet him as he approached. The island's defenders did have an advantage in numbers, after all.

Strife was too clever and too wary to have missed their approach entirely. To Lister, that could mean only one thing: the raven king was afraid. "Pathetic," Lister chortled derisively. "You have us outnumbered, what, three-to-one? And yet you are afraid to face me." Suddenly, though Strife was obviously not close enough to hear him, Lister raised his voice, startling his own men. "You can't hide from me forever, Strife!"

He continued to fly inland, ignoring the constant murmuring amongst his men. It was disappointing, but he took comfort in the fact that they at least continued to follow him, and were afraid to speak their doubts openly.

"Your Majesty!"

Lister looked up to see one of the scouts he had sent ahead returning.

"Where are they, soldier?" Lister demanded gruffly.

"Our enemies are firmly entrenched across the island," the scout reported. "We spotted enemy soldiers at every one of the cliff forts. Most of the smaller villages between the forts and the capital have been deserted, but the city surrounding Castle Kilvas is teeming with our enemies."

As he processed the news, Lister stared off into the distance, in the direction of Castle Kilvas. Then, to the scout's surprise, the would-be king burst out laughing. "Have you forgotten how to fly, too, Strife?" Lister crowed with delight. He turned and gestured for his three chosen commanders to approach.

"What is it, Your Majesty?" one of the three asked, with only a hint of hesitance evident in his voice.

"You will take your men to their cliff forts. Scatter the soldiers there. Do not allow them to retreat to the castle," Lister instructed. He then indicated the second commander. "The city proper is yours. The wyverns will remain with you. Surround the castle and destroy any resistance you encounter, be they Strife's soldiers or civilians."

The first two commanders both nodded, though the first paled visibly at the thought of assailing Kilvas's fortifications with such meager numbers.

"And me?" the third commander asked, doing his best to hide his discomfort.

The poorly-disguised reluctance gnawed at Lister, but he suppressed the urge to begin an angry tirade. "You and your men will remain with me. Castle Kilvas will be ours by sundown," Lister promised instead. He then narrowed his eyes and glared warningly at each of his three commanders in turn. "If any of you encounter Strife, my sister, or the imposter Valent they have found, keep them from escaping and send for me immediately. They are mine. Understand?"

The three commanders nodded their assent, then set off to gather their soldiers. Confusion spread throughout Lister's ranks, for his ragtag army was poorly organized. Five minutes later, Lister's patience had worn thin. "Onwards, my brothers!" he roared, setting off without warning.

* * *

"He's doing _what_!?" Morgan said, flabbergasted.

The amused hawk scout laughed. "You heard me. He's dividing up his forces. A third of his army is moving to attack the cliff forts. Another third, and the remaining wyverns, are spreading out to attack the city. He's heading here to the castle personally, with the remaining soldiers in tow."

"Is he still trying to pass himself off as me?" Valent demanded.

"Yep," the scout confirmed.

Strife turned to Morgan and Soren questioningly. "I don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. How does this change our plans?"

"It doesn't, really," Morgan said thoughtfully. "We could send some reinforcements to the Nighthawk and General Tarn at the cliff forts, but I doubt they will need any."

"They won't," Soren said in a tone of certainty. "Almost half of our army is stationed out there. Even if the attack is concentrated upon one of the four forts, our soldiers will outnumber their attackers two-to-one, with reinforcements closing in from the neighboring forts," he reminded.

Morgan nodded in agreement, quickly shifting her focus from one battlefield to the next. "I think we should dispatch the forces stationed here in the city a bit earlier," Morgan suggested, thinking furiously. "Now that our enemies are divided, our advantage in numbers will be even greater, and more pronounced in an open battlefield."

"True. We can minimize damage to the city this way, as well," Soren agreed.

"Very well. I will instruct my men to move out as soon as Lister reaches the castle," Strife said. "That will cut off Lister's retreat, too."

"Great," Morgan said. "My mother, Nasir, and I should be able to keep the wyverns at bay. We'll keep the rest of Lister's soldiers from reinforcing him once he arrives at the castle."

"Then it will fall to us to take care of the idiot himself," Valent said, cracking his knuckles as he spoke. "Perfect."

"We'd better go," Morgan said, looking up to where Lister's forces dotted the clouds haphazardly. "Soren, General Felicia, will you two be alright here? Maybe we could send for Harmony, or…"

"We'll be fine," Felicia assured.

"There's no time to pull anyone back from the frontlines, anyways," Soren pointed out. "Besides, as skilled as your friends are, we have nearly four hundred soldiers stationed around and within the castle. A few more fighters won't make a noticeable difference here."

"Don't worry about us, Morgan," Strife assured. "If anything, your battle is promising to be the most challenging of the three. Don't hesitate to send for reinforcements if you need them."

"Okay," Morgan agreed. She glanced at her mother and Nasir. "Ready?"

In answer, Nasir pulled forth another of his precious Laguz gems. "It's my last one," he lamented, before his form twisted and stretched into the shape of a mighty white dragon. "Ready," he growled, his voice sounding much deeper than usual.

"Let's go," Cordelia agreed, drawing her lance as she climbed astride her Pegasus.

* * *

Standing atop the battlements of the southernmost of the four fortresses nestled along the western cliffs of Kilvas, Lucina, Severa, and Owain watched as Lister's hawk army gradually closed in. Lucina and Owain were both transfixed upon their inbound enemies. Severa, in contrast, was more focused on their fortress.

"You know, this isn't really much of a fortress," Severa said sourly. "More like… ramshackle barracks with a few rickety walkways."

"That sums them up pretty nicely," a nearby raven agreed cheerfully, taking no offense. "We don't have much use for traditional Beorc fortresses, you know? It's been centuries since the last battle fought on Kilvas, and besides, we wouldn't be making much use of our wings indoors."

"But the fortress is entirely useless for those of us _without_ wings," Severa grumbled. "I'm _still_ not sure what we're doing out here."

"That's what I asked earlier!" Owain chimed in.

"We know what _you_ are doing here," Severa said, glaring at him fiercely. "You're staying where Lucy and I can keep an eye on you, before you get yourself lost. Again."

"Bah, Owain is never lost," Owain boasted. "The straightest path is also the dullest. The meandering road, laden with a wealth of unique experiences, sings endlessly to my heart!"

"Your 'meandering' road is more of a circle," Severa said, rolling her eyes. "Seriously, though. This is a waste of time."

"Come on, Sev. You heard Morgan," Lucina said. "There's two possibilities we're worried about. Either Lister's army attacks these forts since we're the first enemies they'll encounter, or…"

"Or they'll fly straight past us to attack Castle Kilvas. That will allow the Laguz to surround them and cut off their retreat. Which would then leave the three of us stranded here in this mockery of a fortress," Severa complained. "Even if they attack us, the chance of them attacking _this_ fort in particular is practically nonexistent!"

Unfazed by her best friend's complaining, Lucina continued staring up at the approaching army, studying their movements. "This isn't right," she murmured. "It looks like they're trying to divide their forces."

"Maybe their sense of direction is as bad as Owain's," Severa offered helpfully.

Lucina shook her head quickly. "No. Look closely, Sev. Most of them are still flying east, but some of them are changing course."

Severa fell silent as she, too, studied the enemy formations. "That _is_ strange," she agreed. "Our army is roughly five times bigger than theirs. Why would they divide up their army further?"

"I don't know," Lucina admitted. "But I guess it doesn't really matter." She turned in search of the raven who had been charged with the defense of the southern fort. "Captain!"

"I see them," the raven commander assured. "Stay sharp, everyone! Remember: if they strike at us, we hold our position until reinforcements come. If they strike at another fort instead, we go to their aid right away!"

"And what if they're actually dumb enough to try and attack all four forts at the same time?" Severa interrupted wryly. She gestured towards the disoriented hawk army above them, which had haphazardly split into four noticeably unequal divisions.

"Are they mad?" Lucina gaped.

"That, or their grasp of strategy is worse than Cynthia's," Severa said, shrugging helplessly. "You know, I was hoping to poke fun at Morgan for not accurate predicting our opponent's' plan of attack, but at this point, I don't think this even qualifies as a plan."

"Stupid or not, they're still headed our way, and I doubt they were kind enough to blunt their talons for us, too," Lucina warned. She drew Falchion from its sheath. "Don't get complacent."

"Face each and every challenge with fervor and determination," Owain declared, drawing his own weapon. Severa rolled her eyes, but followed suit without further complaint. At least, until the enemy soldiers were close enough to count.

"That's it?" Severa said in a tone of disbelief. "There's less than forty of them!"

Lucina was spared trying to formulate a response by the timely arrival of their foes. Strife's disciplined soldiers waited until the last possible moment to fly up into the fray, and quickly swarmed the rebels, throwing them into a panicked frenzy.

The battle ended only a few short minutes later. A few of the enemy hawks managed to slip through and reach the battlements, only to be promptly cut down by blade or lance. Many more had surrendered outright.

The rest lay strewn across the newly crimson-stained battlements.

* * *

After spreading out to form a rough semicircle, the invaders began encroaching gradually upon the city's borders. At first, they watched nervously as their leader and his men dove towards the castle at the center of the capital.

Then, a war horn blared out loudly from somewhere near the castle.

All across the city, raven and hawk soldiers alike lifted their own horns, echoing the call-to-arms before soaring skyward. Defending soldiers flurried upwards from all over the city to meet the invading rebels. Formations on both sides collapsed after mere seconds, leaving behind only a frenzied melee.

Morgan glided past skirmish after skirmish, searching for her more easily discerned non-Laguz targets. She quickly spotted the nearest wyvern and its rider, and began homing in upon them. By the time the unfortunate soldier noticed her approach, it was too late. A swirl of magical flames spun outward, immolating him and sending his wyvern into an uncontrolled rampage.

A nearby hawk screeched loudly before diving towards the seemingly distracted Pegasus rider with his talons bared. Instinctively, Morgan swerved away, releasing her grip on her tome to draw her sword instead. Her tome soared only a few feet before reaching the end of the strap that bound it to Catria's saddle.

Morgan spun to face the Laguz who had conveniently made his allegiances clear. A wave of energy spurt forth from Alondite's silver edge, catching the hawk by the wing as he tried to close in and shearing through feather, flesh, and bone without pause.

Out of the corner of her eye, Morgan spotted a second wyvern rider bearing down upon her, with his crossbow readied. Morgan swept her other arm over, presenting her shield. Just as during the previous night's battle, the incoming bolt was drawn to the enchanted barrier before bouncing off of it harmlessly.

Before Morgan could retaliate, there was a flash of white feathers, accompanied by a red blur. The dead Redeemer tumbled from his steed as Cordelia soared off in search of her next target. Morgan could not tear her eyes away from the spectacle, as a pair of hawks tried to catch the veteran Pegasus rider, only to have their advances halted by a pair of neatly thrown javelins.

Then another wyvern soared by, breaking Morgan out of her stupor. She set off in quick pursuit, but the armored rider didn't even seem to notice Morgan stalking him as he continued flying parallel to his quarry.

Morgan sheathed her sword and reached for her tome, leveling it towards her unwary victim, but before she could invoke her spell, she spotted another pair of wyverns in the distance, and her heart sank. The three Redeemers were slowly converging upon their target, and Cordelia seemed entirely unaware of their intent.

"Look out!" Morgan cried, though there was no way her mother could hear her. She fired off a blast of fire, but somehow, the wyvern's rider merely shrugged off the powerful spell. Morgan watched in horror as the wyvern rider ignored her and casually loosed his bolt.

But contrary to Morgan's fears, Cordelia was perfectly aware of her predicament. Her left arm was already swinging into position, and the bolt clattered harmlessly off her shield. The other two wyverns swerved inwards to attack at the same time, but Cordelia intercepted one with another javelin, then urged her steed into a sudden dive.

With an outraged cry, the first wyvern rider began loading a second bolt, forgetting about the second Pegasus rider entirely. Not wanting to take any chances, Morgan spiraled towards the wyvern and slashed outwards with Alondite, cutting through the resilient beast's scales and into its muscled flank. The wyvern let out a shrill, agonized scream, nearly throwing off its rider. With a well-timed swing, Morgan sent forth another wave of energy, decapitating the wyvern cleanly.

The tactician's keen eyes spotted a small flask falling from the wyvern's saddlebag as the wyvern and its rider plummeted towards the island below. "Pure water," she muttered, immediately recognizing the mystical concoction that bestowed a powerful resistance to magic when imbibed.

Understanding now why her magic had failed, Morgan closed in upon another of the wyverns with her sword readied. Perhaps it was an isolated occurrence, and that wyvern rider had been the only one carrying pure water. Or perhaps the first wyvern rider she had felled was one of the few without it, or hadn't had time to drink his. Either way, Morgan was unwilling to take any chances.

Answering her summons, Alondite flashed again, and the Redeemer was struck dead even before he could set eyes upon his attacker. But Morgan had been too late to stop him from firing, and with his final shot, the wyvern rider managed to cut down a distracted raven Laguz with a perfectly placed bolt.

Then it was Morgan's turn to be distracted. A vicious roar vibrated through the air around them. Morgan, and every other nearby combatant on both sides, turned and watched as Nasir joined the fray, the scintillating sunlight glinting off his pure, white scales. His target, another of the Redeemers' wyvern riders, fired at him experimentally, but the diminutive bolt only glanced off the mighty dragon's scales.

A beam of blinding light tore through the air, cutting down the Redeemer as he tried futilely to escape. A chorus of indecipherable cries followed as the panicked rebels and Redeemers flew every which way in an effort to put as much distance between them and their monstrous foe as possible.

Morgan slew another of the wyverns as she pursued the fleeing Redeemers, but brought her Pegasus to a halt right after, realizing that the battle was over. She turned to the west instead, wondering if her friends holding the fortresses would need her help. A quick glance was all it took for her to understand the battles fought there had been just as one-sided.

The battle of Kilvas had already reached its swift and inevitable conclusion.

* * *

Blissfully unaware of the disaster above, Lister soared down over the courtyard of Castle Kilvas, landing smoothly at the top of the steps. Most of his followers did not share his confidence, and alternated their nervous gazes between the battle above, and the many Laguz soldiers standing at the courtyard's perimeter.

Strife's orders had been explicit, and as much as they would have liked to, his loyal soldiers did not attack. Instead, they contented themselves with leveling their stony gazes at the traitorous imposter.

Lister crossed through the threshold imperiously, only to find the main hall lined with soldiers, too. For the first time since his arrival in Kilvas, he felt a twinge of discomfort. He glanced behind him, and noticed that the soldiers that had been standing in the courtyard had closed in, blocking the way out.

His nervousness was not lost upon his followers, who seemed to be on the verge of absolute panic. But with no avenue of escape open, they had no choice but to follow as Lister made his way, uncontested, to the throne room.

Strife, and the real Prince Valent, were there waiting for him.

"Hello, Lister," Strife greeted in a polite, but grim tone.

"Lister?" Lister asked, feigning confusion.

"You can drop the act now," Valent snarled impatiently.

Before Lister could respond, Strife gestured for Valent to be silent. "Easy, Valent," Strife said calmly, before turning his attention back to Lister. "The magic you borrowed from your hidden Beorc allies may have changed your appearance, but from the beginning, your actions made it impossible for you to confuse you for the real Valent. Even your own men who followed you here must know the truth by now."

"Oh, they know the truth," Lister assured, trying to sound confident despite his growing unease. "They know you're a liar. They know you're nothing more than a deceitful, weakling crow, strutting around in the spotlight with your stolen crown. They know that I, their rightful king, can singlehandedly crush you _and_ this laughable imposter you've found."

"Imposter!?" Valent roared, lunging for his impudent, hated foe. Lister, in spite of his cocky demeanor, recoiled.

"Valent!" Strife barked, catching Valent by the shoulder and holding him back. Valent slowed obediently, but remained tense and ready to strike. "One last chance to come clean, Lister. Enough of our people have suffered for your ambition and naiveté. Surrender, and we will show you more mercy than you deserve."

Lister scoffed at the notion. "Surrender? To _you_?" he said incredulously.

"If you would rather beg for mercy after I've stripped you of your cloak, right before I tear your head off, I have no objections," Valent declared menacingly. Before Strife could interfere once more, the reckless prince transformed and darted forward.

Lister reacted immediately, reaching into his pocket for a Laguz gem and drawing upon its power. His cloak's magic persisted, and even Strife could hardly tell the two hawk Laguz apart as the two collided. The soldiers stationed in the throne room transformed, too, and began to advance.

The wiser of Lister's followers surrendered immediately. Some transformed to meet their challengers, and other fled outright, only to find Strife's soldiers waiting. The battle quickly spilled into the corridors, stretching all the way towards the entrance.

Unnoticed in the chaos of battle, a mysterious cloud of mist drifted down from the sky and through the open castle doors.

* * *

"This way, quickly!" a hawk soldier hissed, reverting to his human form as he turned into one of the side corridors.

One of his companions followed nervously, glancing back towards the battle raging in the main hall. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. There's a side exit down at the end of this hall, to the right. Now be quiet!" the first soldier hissed.

"But that was the real Prince Valent," the second soldier argued. "Maybe we should just turn ourselves in, instead."

"Turn ourselves in?" the first soldier asked incredulously, as they rounded the corner. He let out a startled cry when he found his way blocked.

"That would be the wiser course," Felicia advised kindly. She knew better though, and held her sword ready; pride was a famed vice of the hawk Laguz.

Soren's snide remarks didn't help, either. "Of course, no one in the history of Tellius has ever accused a hawk of being overly wise," he said, rolling his eyes as he brandished his tome.

The second, more hesitant soldier backed away nervously, only to find a pair of raven soldiers standing behind him, blocking off the other end of the corridor. His bolder companion let out a shrill cry and transformed, hoping to soar past Felicia and Soren.

Felicia thrust her blade upward, but was too late. A gust of wind shot past her and slammed into the hawk, throwing him back several steps. The Laguz hopped back onto his spindly, transformed feet, but Soren merely advanced a step and conjured another violent gale, forcing the hawk to the ground and crushing him into submission.

The deadly branded mage then turned and leveled his gaze upon the second hawk.

"I yield!" the second hawk said quickly, an audible tremor in his voice.

"Take care of these two," Soren instructed the two raven Laguz, before striding off in the direction of the throne room.

Felicia hurried to follow. "You could have spared your magic," she said conversationally as she fell in line beside him. "He wasn't about to get past me."

"My tome's power is limitless," Soren replied. "It carries the same blessing as your sword."

"My sword? You recognize it?" Felicia said, sounding both surprised and impressed.

"Naturally," Soren said in a bored tone. "It's quite a distinguished weapon in its own right. Inherited, I presume?"

"It's been passed down through my family for generations," Felicia confirmed.

Soren remained thoughtfully silent as they approached the main hall. The din of the battle growing louder with each step. When at last they reached the threshold, before joining the battle, Soren turned to Felicia once more.

"What of Stefan's brand?" Soren asked reluctantly, as if he was afraid of the answer. "Did he leave that behind for his descendants, too?"

Felicia stared at the older branded appraisingly, though her hand twitched involuntarily at his words. "Some of us," she admitted. "Why do you ask?"

"Simple curiosity," Soren replied evasively, before stepping into the main hallway and scanning the chaotic brawl for fleeing rebels.

* * *

Lister smiled in spite of his many wounds as the other hawk withdrew from the battle. "Oh? Giving up already?" he taunted cruelly, as Valent's transformation wore out and the prince reverted to his human form.

"Do you really think you're fooling anyone with your gem?" Strife, still in his raven form, chided. He made no move to continue the battle.

"Gem?" Lister asked, feigning confusion.

"I don't understand. What are you hoping to achieve with this?" Strife pressed. "Look around you. Most of your men have already fled, and those who did not have all been captured. You are surrounded, Lister. The war is over. Why do you fight on?"

"Ah, yes. All hail King Strife of Phoenicis, the mighty victor," Lister retorted sarcastically. "You pathetic cowards couldn't defeat me two against one. Are you truly so scared of a fair fight that you need an entire army to defeat one, lone warrior?"

Without warning, a fierce gale slammed into Lister from behind, throwing him to the ground. A second magical burst struck him again as he was struggling to regain his footing.

One of the captured soldiers burst free of his bindings then, throwing himself at Soren. He had only just finished transforming when Felicia intercepted him with her blade, slicing easily through the hawk's already-injured wing.

Without even acknowledging the minor skirmish, the ruthless mage stood over the fallen pretender, a wry, humorless grin on his face. "A fair fight? Wherever did you get the notion that we'd fight fair?" he asked.

Lister only groaned weakly as his transformation slipped away, leaving him appearing as thoroughly bruised and battered Valent. The real Valent stepped forth and lifted Lister roughly by the neck, fumbling about for the cloak that Harmony had warned them about.

"There," Valent proclaimed triumphantly, as he stripped the disguising cloak from his beaten foe. With a rough shove, the angry prince tossed Lister, now bereft of his disguise, to the floor. Then, before either anyone could intervene, he grasped the cloak tightly in both hands and tore it in two.

Soren grimaced. "We might've made use of that at some point," he remarked.

Valent shrugged, though he didn't appear particularly apologetic. "Sorry. If you do need a disguise later, let me know. We can just skin him," he suggested, pointing at Lister. "Alive."

Soren tensed, and magical energies swirled suddenly around his tome.

Valent stumbled back, alarmed. "What are you…" he sputtered.

Ignoring the prince and the others in the room, who looked similarly shocked, Soren spun and loosed his spell at the doorway, just as a cloud of mist drifted through. The mist broke apart when struck, then quickly reformed itself, solidifying into a humanoid shape.

As Relic's features became visible, a wall of stone erupted out of thin air, deflecting Soren's next spell. Felicia leapt forward to strike, sliding around the wall. Magical flames fanned outward from the side of the shield, and the Begnion general was forced to roll aside, patting frantically at the flames that clung to her clothing.

Realizing that his wind spells would only fan the flames further, Soren switched to his thunder tome and struck again, hoping to break the spirit charmer's earthen barrier outright. The lightning bolt struck the stone shield, leaving a crack, before deflecting off of it at an odd angle and smashing into the ceiling.

A ring of circling embers sprouted from the ground in a perfect circle around the spirit charmer, growing taller and taller as Relic's red-lined metallic halo drifted forwards.

"Get out!" Soren cried, correctly guessing Relic's intent. "Everyone, out!" As he spoke, he threw his thunder tome aside, lifting his wind tome once more. He called forth its magic with every bit of concentration he could muster, twisting it into a protective ring around himself. Just as the magic took shape, he lunged forth and caught Felicia by the arm, grasping her tightly and holding her still.

"Flames of kingdom's rebirth!" Relic proclaimed. The circling flames flashed and flared outward, growing wilder and wilder, until Relic could no longer be seen. The flames continued to grow, filling the room gradually, as the Laguz transformed and barreled past the deadly spirit charmer, fleeing the doomed castle.

Soren made his way past where Relic had been standing, moving his impromptu cyclone with him to keep the flames at bay, tugging at a struggling Felicia. Understanding at last, Felicia relaxed and followed him obediently. Together, the two of them pushed straight through the burning doorway, doing their best to ignore the searing heat.

"A deserved fate averted," Relic said gravely, his voice carrying through the roaring, magical fires.

* * *

"Morgan, look!" Cordelia called, soaring to her daughter's side. She pointed towards the castle below.

Morgan's brow furrowed in confusion as she watched Laguz stream forth from every doorway and window. Her first thought was that Lister's soldiers were fleeing, but there were far too many refugees, and even from such a far distance, the ravens amongst them appeared a shade darker. "What is going on?" she murmured.

"Your orders, commander?" Nasir asked as he drifted towards Morgan, assuming a position opposite of Cordelia.

"Something's wrong down there. We have to help them. Rally our troops and send them back towards the castle," Morgan decided quickly. She set off without another word, descending towards the castle and pushing Catria to fly as fast as she could.

Her eyes widened as the first hints of Relic's pyroclasm spread, flickering behind every opening of the castle. "A fire?" she gasped.

Thick, dark clouds gathered above Kilvas, casting the entire island into darkness before the first drops began to fall. Distracted, Morgan didn't even notice the impending storm until a droplet of cool water splashed against her cheek. "Rain…" she said, staring up at the sky wonderingly for a moment.

Then the implications of the weather changing so suddenly sank in, and Morgan pushed Catria onwards with renewed urgency. "Hurry, Catria," Morgan implored, knowing that Pegasi, like birds, relied upon their feathers to keep their wings warm and needed to keep their wings dry while flying. She looked back, searching for her mother, but the rain had already begun falling in thick curtains, and Morgan could only barely make out dark shapes darting back and forth in the distance.

"Mom's fine. She knows better than to keep flying in the rain," Morgan reassured herself as she continued her descent toward the blazing castle.

* * *

The storm stretched west, and even the western cliff fortresses of Kilvas were caught in its outermost reaches. Though the rain was milder near the storm's fringe, the Laguz soldiers had already retreated into the barracks to escape the discomfort of the cool rain. The battlements of the northernmost fortress were nearly deserted; only Harmony and Symphony remained, both staring to the southeast in the direction of Castle Kilvas.

"This seems too sudden, even for a summer storm," Symphony said, eyeing the dark clouds nervously. "There were barely any clouds in the sky when our battle first began."

"It's not a natural occurrence," Harmony said, sounding certain. Symphony looked at her questioningly. "There's not much wind," she explained.

"No way for the storm to gather so quickly," Symphony agreed. "What do you think it is, then? Can the Laguz control the weather now?"

"Not the Laguz. Relic," Harmony guessed. "Whenever he overextends the power of his halo, it disturbs the balance of the spirits around him. The imbalance results in an inverted, elemental aftershock. Remember the earthquake he summoned back on Dragonflame Isle?"

"Which then caused a terrible storm," Symphony remembered.

"He must have grown more adept with it. He's controlling, or at least predicting, the aftershocks now," Harmony realized. "It's not safe for Pegasi or bird Laguz to fly in the rain, but rain doesn't bother wyverns nearly as much. The storm will cover their escape."

"But there's only a light wind, meaning…" Symphony said, catching on.

"Fire," Harmony whispered.

* * *

"King Phoenicis!" Morgan called as soon as she spotted the raven king standing amidst a cluster of refugees standing just outside the castle gates. She guided her Pegasus to shelter, beneath the leaves of a large tree standing nearby, before dismounting.

"Welcome back," Strife greeted as Morgan approached.

"I hope you're battle went better than ours," Valent grumbled discontentedly, hunched beneath a large brown cloak.

"Here," Felicia interrupted, handing a similar cloak to Morgan, and another to the king.

"Thanks," Morgan said, tugging on the cloak halfheartedly. "What happened?"

"It's not as bad as it looks," Strife said quickly. "A Beorc mage attacked us immediately after we defeated Lister. The one that King Goldoa called Relic, I think. He set the castle ablaze, but we were able to get almost everyone to safety, including the captives taken in battle."

"What about Lister?" Morgan asked.

Valent let out a harsh bark of laughter. "We weren't about to risk our lives dragging that bastard to safety," he said derisively.

"We were in a rush to escape the throne room. We left him and his ruined magical cloak to the flames," Strife said.

"Good riddance to them both," Felicia said, echoing Morgan's silent sentiments exactly.

"The war is over now," Strife said optimistically, as if it didn't bother him that his childhood home was quickly burning to the ground before their eyes. "It wasn't clean, but it was better than we could have hoped for."

"But your castle…" Morgan said sadly, watching as parts of the ancient stone castle began to crumble.

"Castles can be rebuilt," Strife said with a shrug. "The casualties we suffered on both sides is the deeper scar by far, but with the help you and your friends offered, we kept our losses to a minimum. Thank you."

Morgan began to nod, but stopped when she remembered that another of her companions had been stationed at the castle. "Wait. Where is Soren?" she asked uneasily.

"Don't worry. He's fine. He's the one who got me out of there," Felicia said, reassuringly, craning her head in search of the branded mage. "There," she said, pointing to where Soren stood alone, just within the castle's gates.

* * *

Even in the relentless downpour, the mesmerizing flames continued to spread outward, engulfing Castle Kilvas in flickering orange and golden light. Soren gazed idly upon the burning wreckage from across the courtyard. Though he was close enough to feel the heat radiating from the intense flames, he was lost in his thoughts, and barely noticed the warmth.

He was in a different place then, standing in front of a different castle, located not upon an island, but in the middle of a barren wasteland. When he thought of the war-torn Laguz city behind him, memories of a different town visited him unbidden.

Soren found himself thinking of the civilians they had evacuated, who were hiding along the eastern edge of Kilvas. His thoughts went out to one of the refugees in particular.

"Was this what it was like for you, Lehran?" Soren whispered. "Back when Serenes Forest was put to the torch, and the rest of the world forged along, uncaringly, from one minor man-made catastrophe to the next?"

The only answer he received was the continuous crackling of the flames.

Then, several minutes later, he heard soft footsteps on the dirt path behind him, and turned to see Morgan approaching.

"Here," Morgan said, holding out an extra cloak she was carrying. She hesitated when Soren didn't reach out for it. "I guess you don't really need it. It's a bit warm here, isn't it?" she said softly.

To her surprise, Soren accepted the cloak anyways. "Thank you. I was just leaving." He pulled the cloak on roughly before starting down the dirt path.

"Soren, are you alright?" Morgan asked, hurrying to follow.

"I'm fine," Soren replied brusquely.

Morgan studied Soren's haunted expression closely. "King Phoenicis seems reasonably happy with this outcome. I don't think he's too upset about the castle," she said, though she already had a feeling that Soren's discomfort had nothing to do with the loss of Castle Kilvas.

"He can have it rebuilt easily enough," Soren said, sounding unconcerned. He glanced back at Morgan, and stopped walking when he noticed her concerned expression. He then turned back to the burning wreckage behind them. "Trying to peek inside my mind again?" he remarked lightly.

"Umm… maybe?" Morgan admitted. "I'm sorry, I'll..."

"Nestor wasn't killed by bandits," Soren said abruptly, cutting her apology short.

Morgan looked at him, bewildered.

"Azure Pyre was attacked by the Grimleal," Soren explained.

It took several seconds for Soren's words to register, but when they did, Morgan let out a shocked gasp. "The Grimleal?"

"Yes. Not a single cultist walked away from the battle that day, but we suffered many losses of our own, including Nestor," Soren continued. "Afterwards, I set out from Azure Pyre alone, and combed Plegia for the surviving seeds of their cult. I traced them to a temple in southern Plegia, tucked away in the corner of a barren wasteland. The same Dragon's Table from the stories you told Priam and me, if I am not mistaken. I slew the Grimleal within the temple, and razed their temple to the ground."

"How long ago was this?" Morgan asked in a hushed tone.

"Centuries. Even then, they were searching for a way to resurrect their dark god," Soren replied. "I knew that some of the Grimleal remained, dispersed throughout Plegia, but there was no way I could eradicate them alone. I returned to Azure Pyre, hoping that I had dealt them a harsh enough blow to at least keep them out of trouble for some time. But what difference did it really make?"

Soren gestured towards the ruin of Castle Kilvas. Most of the stone walls remained intact despite bearing many scorch marks, but the portions crafted from wood or straw had been burned away, leaving the castle with an eerie, skeletal look. "We all struggle endlessly to build the life we envision, and always, there are those who seek a path riddled with pain and destruction. Selfish bandits, deranged cultists, power-hungry sorcerers, ambitious traitors… it doesn't matter. It always ends in this."

Morgan stared at the flickering embers in silence, unsure of what to say.

"Watching Castle Kilvas burn, knowing that it would be rebuilt, and knowing that even then, it won't last forever… it reminded me of the Grimleal temple that I destroyed. It's actually a bit comforting, if you think about it," Soren said. "Understanding that in the long run, today's events matter little, goes a long way in easing the pressure," he explained, when Morgan shot him a questioning look.

"That almost sounds optimistic, coming from you," Morgan remarked with a slight frown.

"Almost?" Soren echoed, feigning disappointment. "I suppose I should try harder."

"You could start by picking a less gloomy background for this conversation," Morgan suggested cheerfully, relieved to see that Soren's mood had lightened somewhat. "Maybe we could also talk about something else. You know, something that isn't about doom and destruction. That could help, too."

"Doom and destruction," Soren mused. "That sums up my life pretty well, doesn't it? Just look at this little cross-continental jaunt of yours."

"No way," Morgan said, remaining undeterred. "We've already seen so much more than that," she insisted. "We met Daein's queen, who has been ruling her kingdom peacefully for hundreds of years, right? We spent two weeks exploring a mysterious forest on the farthest edge of civilization and found absolutely nothing useful at all. And there's those beautiful golden lights we saw during our voyage, shining high in the sky."

"The voyage where our captain nearly beached us upon a small, deserted island because she was too distracted by the gulls flying overhead," Soren remarked.

"That's the one," Morgan agreed brightly, unoffended by the verbal jab.

There was a soft hiss as the last of the flames cooled and smoldered. As if by unspoken agreement, the two tacticians turned to leave. They made their way back to the nearest gathering, where Strife and Valent were already discussing how best to clean up the mess the war had wrought.

Soren paused, though, remaining just out of earshot of the others. "You have quite a bright outlook on life," he observed quietly. "So bright that it casts light upon the lives of others, even those who had grown comfortable in the dark."

Morgan looked at him blankly, unsure of his meaning. "Thanks?" she said uncertainly.

"Hold onto it," Soren advised. "Come on. We should see if King Phoenicis needs any help putting his kingdom back in order before we discuss our next move."


	13. Part Three: Memories of the Future

**~ Part Three ~**

 **Memories of the Future**

 _The Phoenician Civil War is over. It was mercifully short, spanning only a few weeks, but it has still taken its toll. Hundreds of Laguz lay dead, and both islands are littered with rubble and ruins, including what's left of Castle Kilvas._

 _These wounds will heal in time. The reconstruction has already begun. They'll clear away the rubble. New homes and castles will be built. Even those who perished in the war will one day be replaced, won't they? One day, only painful memories will linger, and even those may eventually fade. All that will be left of the war will be a few words written in an old tome, or scribed upon a stale piece of parchment._

 _History repeats itself, so say the scholars._

 _I remember Queen Micaiah mentioning a civil war in Daein, too. I don't know the details, but I can imagine them easily enough. As dangerous as Lister was, he was far from unique. His deadly aspirations were born of pride and mistrust, characteristics that many people in our world share. Even in Ylisse, we have dukes who bicker for days about trivial matters, and scrutinize our Feroxi and Plegian neighbors with unwarranted suspicion. Was that how the Daein Civil War began, with a few discontented and influential individuals recognizing and seizing an opportunity to expand their power, no matter the cost to their people?_

 _There are far too many Listers in our world. Even in his wake, here in Phoenicis, there are people just like him. They may have pledged renewed fealty to King Phoenicis, but it's clear they would fight on if they thought victory to be possible. There are even those who do not bother to hide their scorn, who would keep fighting on principle alone, if they thought there was any statement left to be made. I can see those same thoughts reflected in the expressions of many of King Phoenicis' followers, too. Only the painful memories of chaos, loss, and suffering are keeping the battle from beginning anew._

 _But what happens when the pain is forgotten? Will the scholars be proven right again?_

 _We were able to accomplish a lot here in Phoenicis. We rescued a captive prince, held hostage for his political position. We ended the war through only two short battles, with no civilian casualties, and before it could spread to other countries. In the end, the wise, unprejudiced, and farsighted king triumphed over the brash, prideful, and shortsighted usurper._

 _And yet, there are still many Listers out there. Walharts and Validars, too. None of us can say for sure how long our victory will really last._

 _Thankfully, the cycle of conflict can be quite long. Ylisse has known peace since Grima's fall. Even now, people still remember Exalt Emmeryn's sacrifice. When Ylisse's throne one day passes to the Lucina of this world, people will still remember Uncle Chrom, too, and his battle against the fell dragon. They'll remember the two Plegian wars. They'll remember the war in Valm. Odds are, Ylisse will remain peaceful for the rest of my life._

 _But what of those who live long enough to see the cycle begin anew? I only exchanged a few words with Lehran, and even that was more disheartening than I ever could have imagined. There was a saddened, resigned air about him, and I felt incredibly guilty for involving him in yet another war. How many times had he seen this same story played out, by different actors, but for similar reasons and to similar ends?_

 _I felt the same way when I saw Soren staring into the smoldering remnants of Castle Kilvas, and when he told me about the battles he had once fought against the Grimleal. I had thought Azure Pyre, situated in the most isolated corner of Ylisse, would have escaped conflict with the Grimleal. Instead, the rest of the world was simply ignorant to their plight._

 _The mere thought of Ylisse being consumed by war again terrifies me. What must it be like for Soren or Lehran, forced to watch their memories played out time and time again?_


	14. Chapter 9

**~ Chapter 9 ~**

 _"Look! Over there!"_

 _Upon hearing his companion cry out, the blue-haired warrior looked up, immediately laying eyes upon the swarm of incoming raiders._

 _The warrior's other companion, an old farmer, gaped at the invaders. "There's so many of them," he whispered, horrified. He turned to the warrior with a pleading expression. "What do we do, Nestor?"_

 _Between the farmer's wrinkled, leathery skin and graying hair, he looked to be at least thrice Nestor's age. Nestor took it in stride, hardly surprised that his neighbors would look to him to lead with a battle looming ahead of them. "We do what we have to do," he replied calmly. His gaze slipped down to the dying man lying at his feet, noting the familiar patterns on the scout's black traveling robes._

 _When their gazes met, the dying cultist chuckled sadistically, amused by the distress he saw in the warrior's eyes. His mirth was short-lived, fading as Nestor roughly seized him by the neck and forced him into a standing position._

 _"Why are you here?" Nestor asked coolly, seeming impossibly calm._

 _The cultist gasped for air, sputtering wordlessly until Nestor released him. Unable to maintain his footing, the cultist collapsed into a heap, drawing one ragged, pained breath after another._

 _When the cultist did not answer, Nestor reached down once more, pulling the cultist up into a kneeling position and resting the edge of his golden sword against the cultist's neck. "One last chance," Nestor warned._

 _The cultist only looked up at the sky, his eyes alit with malice. "My soul is yours, Master," he proclaimed hoarsely._

 _Understanding that he was not about to get any information of value from the fanatic, Nestor casually flicked his wrist and sent the cultist's head tumbling across the meadow. The man's final, frozen expression of cruel delight leered up at Nestor and his two farmer companions, but Nestor ignored it, his attention drawn to the many battles that had broken out along the village's perimeter. "Go alert the others," Nestor instructed. "Get every last man and woman who can wield a weapon out here, and everyone else away to safety."_

 _Then, without waiting for either of the two farmers to acknowledge his orders, Nestor raced off towards the north to join the nearest battle, pausing only when he heard a tumultuous crash in the opposite direction. Instinctively, he glanced to the south to see a massive cyclone swaying back and forth, tearing through the cultists' ranks. "Give them hell," Nestor murmured, wearing a satisfied grin, as he resumed his charge._

* * *

 _"I didn't expect to find any mages here. Especially not one so young."_

 _Standing amidst the fallen forms of his foes, Soren turned to find a middle-aged man, clad in the robe of a Grimleal sorcerer, striding towards him. "Young?" Soren asked, amused._

 _"Defeating half a dozen swordsmen alone is no easy feat, but true skill comes with age," the Grimleal declared. "You harbor great potential, my friend. Join with us. Who knows what you could one day achieve with Master Grima's blessing?"_

 _"I don't need your cursed god's blessing," Soren informed him flatly, raising his tome._

 _"You dare to challenge me?" the sorcerer chuckled._

 _Quick as lightning, Soren flicked his tome outwards, and a powerful gale ripped forth, shredding through the priest's robes and throwing him back nearly thirty feet. The arrogant sorcerer was dead before he even hit the ground. "If skill comes with age, then maybe you should have waited another century or two," Soren remarked snidely._

 _A handful of Grimleal warrior had been closing in upon the branded mage, but upon seeing their master killed so brutally and efficiently, they hesitated, glancing at one another uneasily._

 _Soren shared none of their hesitation. He turned sharply to face the nearest one, brandishing his tome again. The cultist let out a strangled cry, instinctively throwing up his arms to cover his face._

 _No magic spilled forth from the tome, though, and the dark-robed mage looked down at the tome, wearing a confused expression._

 _The Grimleal warrior peeked at Soren curiously. Then he understood, and grinned broadly. "Out of tricks, are we?" he snarled. "Get him!" He rushed forward with a howl, his axe drawn back for a powerful, overhead swing. His companions echoed his battle cry and charged, too, swarming the mage._

 _Soren couldn't quite hide his smile as the simpleminded, brutish cultists fell for his feint, conveniently placing themselves within the range of his next spell simultaneously. At the last possible second, he thrust his tome downwards. A powerful surge of wind struck the ground, propelling its caster skyward before spreading outward and throwing the cultists aside._

 _The branded mage landed agilely on both feet, standing at the center of a gruesome ring comprised of his fallen foes. "I don't run out of tricks," he replied flatly, though he was fairly certain that the taunting cultist was no longer amongst the living._

 _A loud thunderclap drew his attention to another battle north of them. He flinched as he saw the magical flashes in the distance. "Finish them, if any yet live!" Soren called to a pair of battered villagers, gesturing at the Grimleal bodies strewn around him. He set off without another word, sprinting to the north as quickly as possible._

* * *

 _Living at the unpopulated fringe of the continent, the villagers of Azure Pyre were no strangers to battle. In peaceful times, they might have been farmers, fishermen, blacksmiths, and carpenters, but in the face of a true threat, they were all warriors at heart. Ignoring the overwhelming odds, they fought on, matching their shoddy, makeshift spears against the cultists' fine swords and axes without hesitation._

 _One of the cultist leaders, an aged sorcerer, surveyed the battle before him impatiently. "Kill these miserable wretches already!" he urged. "These impudent fools stand in the path of a god! Bring Master Grima's heel down upon them! Crush them, and revel in their despair!"_

 _One of the villagers, a young carpenter, pushed his way past the Grimleal soldiers, charging at the sorcerer with a heavy hammer raised over his head. The sorcerer sneered at the youth and brandished his tome, willing forth its magic. Black tendrils of energy slithered forth, sinking into the ground and surging forward. When the cursed shadow reached the boy's feet, the tendrils burst forth, strangling and lacerating the doomed carpenter._

 _Heartlessly, the sorcerer turned in search of his next victim. Before he could choose his next target, however, a wave of raw energy slammed into his side, tearing through his magically armored robes and leaving a wicked gash beneath his arm. With a painful moan, he crumpled to his knees._

 _Several of his cultist soldiers howled in outrage as they focused their attentions upon the newcomer. Four of the Grimleal charged together, hoping to overwhelm their victim with numbers alone._

 _None of their blades came even close to hitting their mark. Nestor dashed past them without breaking his stride, appearing as little more than a golden blur with his elegant cloak streaming behind him. Ragnell danced through the air ahead of him, faster than the cultists' eyes could follow. One by one, the cultist soldiers collapsed lifelessly to the ground._

 _The injured sorcerer's eyes widened as he recognized his quarry. "It's him! Take him!" he ordered. Short of breath as he was, his orders were only barely audible._

 _Nevertheless, two more of the Grimleal threw themselves at Nestor obediently, only to be promptly impaled. A third proved to be less loyal than his companions, and fled from the deadly warrior. Nestor casually flicked Ragnell in the fleeing cultist's direction, cutting him down despite being nearly twenty feet away._

 _As if inspired by the fearsome warrior's presence, the remaining villagers fought on with renewed vigor, giving the remaining cultists no time to retreat. Before long, the last of the cultist soldiers crumpled lifelessly to the ground._

 _In his wounded state, the sorcerer realized he was no match for the dangerous swordsman and his companions, and forsook his tome in favor of a staff, sending forth a magical, silent plea for help._

 _He released his staff a moment later, when Nestor jabbed Ragnell painfully against his chest. "You're a long way from home, Grimleal," Nestor began conversationally, allowing a menacing undertone to slip into his voice._

 _Far from being intimidated, the Grimleal sorcerer leered up at him. "Indeed," he rasped, grinning crookedly. "It's been four long decades, but we've found you, at last."_

 _The three surviving villagers glanced curiously at Nestor, as if to ask how the raiders knew of him._

 _"Found me?" Nestor asked, his composure slipping slightly. "Whatever do you mean?"_

 _The sorcerer laughed. "Did you really think that disappearing for a few years would make us forget?" he taunted. "We know of you, fool. The immortal hero, wandering lands that were not his own, immersing himself in conflicts in which he did not belong."_

 _"Ah. So this is revenge, then? You zealots sure know how to hold a grudge," Nestor admonished, trying to hide his discomfort._

 _"Hardly," the sorcerer assured. "I knew you were more than just an old story. I knew you were real, and the key to our dreams. And now I've found you: a perfect vessel befitting a god, worthy of serving Master Grima!"_

 _Before Nestor could answer the cultist's ridiculous proclamation, magical rifts appeared all around them, and five dozen cultist soldiers and mages stepped out, surrounding Nestor and the villagers._

 _Realizing they were surrounded, the villagers looked back and forth quickly in panic, searching for an escape. Nestor, on the other hand, was a seasoned veteran of hundreds of battles, and already recognized the inevitable conclusion. He met the sorcerer's triumphant stare evenly, determined to meet his fate with his head held high._

 _"Perfect?" he scoffed. "Sorry to disappoint, but defying deities happens to run in my family." Before the sorcerer, or any of the other cultists, could react, Nestor thrust Ragnell forward, impaling the Grimleal leader._

 _Cursed lightning and magical flames bombarded the warrior and the three villagers from every direction. Even as his companions crumbled under the weight of the merciless barrage, Nestor gritted his teeth and pushed through, slicing down the nearest Grimleal acolyte with a single, swift stroke before whirling towards the next._

* * *

 _As Soren came upon the lifeless meadow, a cold surge shot through him. He barely acknowledged the Grimleal and villager corpses strewn across the field as he slowly stumbled to the center of the gory battlefield and knelt down beside Nestor._

 _The warrior's golden cloak was scorched and tattered. Several of the links of Nestor's light chain armor had been shattered. Countless wicked, magical burns were visible through Nestor's damaged armor and upon his face, but somehow, Nestor had found the strength to finish off the last of the cultists, leaving Ragnell's golden blade embedded in the dead mage's chest._

 _Soren found it hard to reconcile the painful-looking wounds with the serene smile upon Nestor's face. He found it even harder to reconcile Nestor's peaceful expression with the gnawing discomfort in his own heart._

 _"Without a care in the world," Soren whispered._

 _He and Nestor had both known, before, during, and after their adventures, that one or both of them could meet an abrupt and premature end. It was a possibility they had acknowledged and accepted, and even when they returned to Azure Pyre, and to what they had imagined to be a peaceful life, they had expected to pick up where they had left off one day._

 _He thought he had accepted it, at least._

 _The world felt strangely surreal as Soren pulled Ragnell from its grisly sheath and wiped the blood off on the dead cultist's robe. He gazed one last time upon the young warrior's face, and the curios blue brand adorning the warrior's forehead, not unlike the one Soren himself bore._

 _He turned to leave, his thoughts drifting towards distant Plegia._

 _And as he left the silent meadow, he thought he could hear Nestor's voice, drifting to him on the wind._

 _"Don't follow me too closely, Grandfather. Maybe one of us can still reach the end of our road."_

* * *

"So, it sounds like the fighting Phoenicis is pretty much over," Robin said thoughtfully.

"Yep," Morgan nodded cheerfully. "King Phoenicis set off for Phoenicis Hall this morning, along with Tibarn, Valent, and Celera. His uncle and sister are staying here to organize cleanup of Kilvas. He's granting amnesty to all of the survivors involved in Lister's rebellion."

"That's probably the best move," Robin agreed. "Phoenicis can't afford any more infighting right now. What about the Redeemers?"

Morgan's smile faded slightly. "Relic disappeared right after he set Castle Kilvas ablaze, and the few surviving wyvern riders escaped under the cover of the storm," Morgan admitted. "Also, we combed the ruins after the fire, but didn't find any trace of Lister. Relic may have rescued him."

"That's strange," Robin mused. "The Redeemers didn't hesitate to sacrifice Lister and his soldiers to force one last battle, and now, any influence Lister had is lost. What value could he hold for them now?"

"I don't know," Morgan said. "I can't imagine Lister being happy with the way things played out. Even if he _was_ somehow useful to them, I don't think he'd be willing to cooperate."

Robin mulled it over for a moment longer. "Oh well," he finally said, shrugging. "He's out of the picture for now, anyways. We can keep an eye out for him, but there's no sense in worrying about it right now."

"Right," Morgan agreed. "Lister aside, I think our work is done here. A messenger from Goldoa arrived last night, with King Goldoa's formal demand for a ceasefire. Of course, the war was already over by then. Instead, the dragons are going to stay and help with the reconstruction on both islands."

"Dragons doing construction work, huh? That should be quite a sight," Robin remarked.

"Yeah. If they're all as big as Nasir and King Goldoa, the rest of us would probably just get in their way," Morgan said. "Which is just as well, since we really do have to leave soon, anyways. The Pegasi aren't eating, since the oats here are all stale. Also, Mom says I'm not allowed to feed them anymore."

"Oh?"

Morgan shrugged sheepishly. "How are things going back in Ylisse?" she asked.

Robin smiled at the abrupt subject change. "To use Chrom's own words, 'this dastard is big, but he's no Grima.' The dragon finally turned away from Ylisstol yesterday, flying towards Plegia instead. We're giving chase, but we've sent messengers north to Ferox, too."

"To Ferox?" Morgan asked curiously.

"Chrom seems pretty confident, but I thought we should send for some help, just in case the fight goes south later. Who better to deal with a dragon than another dragon? Nowi's still living in Ferox, as far as we know," Robin explained.

"Huh. We should've thought of that sooner," Morgan mused. "Maybe you should try to get in touch with Nah, too."

"Who's Nah?" Robin asked, confused,

"Oh, right. You haven't met her," Morgan remembered. "She's a Manakete, too, and may still be living in Ferox. Though I have no idea how we could get in touch with her…"

"It's alright," Robin assured. "The situation in Ylisse is under control, at least for now. Deciding our next move here may be tricky, though. Begnion's army should be nearing the Begnion-Daein border soon, and the Begnion Holy Guard should be reaching Nevassa shortly, but our messenger to Daein returned this morning. Extinction is moving quickly and will reach the capital in a few days, long before Begnion's army."

Morgan's eyes went wide. "That soon?"

Robin nodded grimly. "That soon. All the villages along the eidolon's path have been evacuated, and Daein's army is regrouping in the capital. Nevassa's civilians are fleeing, too, for good measure, though if their defense crumbles, the eidolon will probably be able to run them down."

"And there's no way Begnion's army will arrive in time to help them?" Morgan asked worriedly. "How much warp powder do we have?"

"Nowhere near enough," Robin replied. "We could potentially move two, maybe three hundred soldiers out of Begnion's thousands, but I don't think it would be worth the cost. The raw materials are still scarce and expensive."

"Well, we have to do something," Morgan insisted.

"Of course, but there's another problem," Robin sighed. "Do you remember what Volke said about the Redeemers sending scouts to Crimea? I asked Emperor Yashiro to send a few scouts to that region too, just in case. They, too, returned this morning with unpleasant news. Crimea's military routinely patrols the countryside to preserve order. One of their patrols mysteriously disappeared about a week ago. Then, several small villages in Gallia, near the border, were razed to the ground. The captain of the missing patrol and several of his soldiers were found dead at the last village, apparently slain by the Laguz villagers."

Morgan's face screwed up in confusion. "Their soldiers went rogue and began attacking Laguz villages?" she asked in disbelief.

"It looks that way, but it doesn't make any sense. From everything I've heard, Gallia and Crimea have been on good terms for centuries," Robin said. "King Crimea has denied any wrongdoing, but has yet to find any sign of the missing patrol, save for the soldiers that were found dead in Gallia. The Laguz are, naturally, furious with the situation. Their queen, Queen Carina, is trying to keep things under control, but since she only recently ascended to the throne, she has yet to truly earn the trust of her people. Even her advisors are beginning to turn against one another."

Morgan stared at her father silently, horrorstruck.

"If King Crimea can't prove that they weren't involved in the massacres, and Queen Gallia can't rein her people in, we could be looking at another war," Robin concluded grimly.

"This can't be a coincidence," Morgan said.

"It can't," Robin agreed. "My guess is that the Redeemers were responsible for both the missing patrol _and_ the sacked villages. They planted the bodies of the Crimean soldiers in the last village in hopes of provoking an angry reaction from the Laguz."

There was a lengthy silence as Morgan considered her father's theory and their options.

"We could approach it the same way we initially approached Phoenicis," Robin offered. "We can send diplomats to Gallia, warning them about the Redeemers. With the war in Phoenicis as evidence, maybe we could convince them not to do anything rash, at least until we've had time to tend to the immediate threat that Extinction poses."

Morgan's eyes lit up as she considered that possibility. "Not just any diplomats," she corrected. "We could ask King Goldoa and King Phoenicis to go."

"That may not be safe," Robin warned. "If our guess is right, and the Redeemers are responsible, they're probably still watching both Gallia and Crimea closely."

"Then we won't send them alone," Morgan replied. "Lucina, Severa, and Owain can go with them, too. They've crossed paths with the Redeemers several times already, and might be able to help convince Gallia of the truth. King Goldoa may also bring a few of his own people along as bodyguards."

"And everyone will have warp powder on hand to make a quick escape if it becomes necessary," Robin said thoughtfully. "That's an idea. Of course, it also means they may not make it to Nevassa in time."

"That's fine. Daein _does_ have its own army," Morgan reminded. "We should bring General Felicia back to her Pegasus knights, though. Soren and I should head over to Daein, too, just in case they need any help planning their defenses. Besides, Soren isn't very diplomatic when it comes to the Laguz, anyways."

"Begnion's Holy Guard has their own commander, but the general's presence won't hurt," Robin agreed. "But your mother should accompany you to Daein, too. _Someone_ needs to be there to look after you."

"I can look after myself," Morgan protested.

Her father only stared at her.

"Fine," Morgan conceded quickly. "I'll go see if King Phoenicis and King Goldoa are willing to help us."

"Sounds good. Come visit me here in Sienne before you set off for Daein, though," Robin instructed. "I just finished a new weapon that may help."

* * *

CLANG!

CLANG!

CLANG!

Again and again, the loud ring of metal smashing into metal echoed through the dimly lit workshop. At the center of the room, the disgruntled smith continued hammering at his latest work. The rhythmic sound persisted for a full minute before the old artist set his worn tool aside and bent forward to inspect the sword.

"Blade ain't sharp enough," he muttered, scratching at his graying beard. He stood up straight and stretched, before retrieving his hammer and going straight back to work, hammering away.

"OY! GERARD!"

The smith froze with his arm held mid-swing. He was too experienced to let an interruption, no matter how loud, put his work in jeopardy. Recognizing the voice, he turned to greet the silver-haired intruder. "I'm a bit busy here, boy, so unless you're here to tell me the monster turned tail and went home, maybe I should get back to work, eh?" he said. He turned back to his latest project, swearing loudly when he saw that the blade had cooled too much to be shaped further.

Lionel peeked over the smith's shoulder, scrutinizing the weapon. "It'll do," the prince reassured. "And we're just about out of time, anyways. Don't worry about it."

"It don't sit well with me," Gerard griped, as he sheathed the new sword in a stock sheath taken from a large pile lying nearby. He then laid the blade beside a neat row of weapons on a nearby workbench, handling it gently as if it were a work of art.

"Always the perfectionist," Lionel teased. "Don't fret. Your weapons are as fine as any of our men could ask, and better than what most of the other smiths in the city have been churning out."

"O' course. The durned youngsters take no pride in their work," Gerard grumbled.

Lionel grinned, knowing that it had nothing to do with age. He had known Gerard for thirty years, and the skilled smith had never been any less obsessed with perfection in his work. In fact, another of Nevassa's notable smiths was Gerard's senior by at least two decades, and yet produced disappointingly shoddy works.

"You need something, boy? Or did you just come here to mock an old workhorse?" Gerard asked. He gestured toward the row of weapons on the workbench. "It ain't much, but it's all I've scrapped together since you took the rest three days ago."

"That's quite a bit for only three days of work," Lionel said, as he quickly counted the two dozen weapons. "Maybe you should take on a few apprentices. Then you could outfit an entire army in a couple weeks."

"I've got one. The lass is off visiting Begnion," Gerard said. "Lucky for her, eh? Maybe I should've gone with her. You going to take these with you now? You ain't got enough arms for that."

"Nah. I'll have a courier swing by and pick them up later," Lionel declined. "What of the sword I asked you to repair? Are you finished with it?"

"The silver one? Finished it up last night," Gerard said. The old smith hobbled across the room to stand in front of a weapon's rack hanging from the wall. "Wanted to find it a new sheath, but I didn't have much time. Ended up just polishing the old one a tad," He lifted the sheathed sword hanging on the rack and passed it over to Lionel. "Take a look."

Obediently, Lionel drew sword from its sheath and held it up to the nearest window. The blade, whole once more, glimmered in the sunlight. It carried a slight bluish hue, and was more lustrous than he remembered. "This doesn't look like pure silver anymore," Lionel observed.

Gerard snorted. "Wasn't pure silver to begin with. Had some iron in their already," he said, shaking his head. "Silver ain't the best metal for swords, anyhow. Too soft. I added a bit of platinum I had lying around, but it weren't this shiny 'til I added the stone."

"I see," Lionel said thoughtfully. He turned the hilt over in his hand, feeling the grip.

"Didn't do much on the hilt. Didn't need to. Nice piece of work, that sword," Gerard said. His eyes shined wistfully.

Lionel's expression darkened as he laid eyes upon the gem embedded in the hilt. "You changed the gem," he observed.

"Nay. 'Twas the stone, too, I think," Gerard said quickly.

Lionel cringed. "Well, I _did_ warn her that it might not be exactly the same," he said, sheathing the weapon once more. "Hopefully it doesn't bother her too much."

"How long do we have, you think?" Gerard asked.

"A few days, perhaps. If you want to run, now's the time," Lionel said, grinning shakily. "The last caravan's heading out tonight. It'll probably be the last. Honestly, it may already be a bit late."

"Run and do what?" Gerard said with another loud snort. "Crowd one of the small, nameless villages near the border and wait? Nah. No good can come from that, at least not for an old man like me."

"Old?" Lionel laughed. "You're only just barely pushing half a century, my friend."

"Well, we can't _all_ be immortal," Gerard said, laughing as well. "Don't mind me. I'll be right here, cranking out toys for your men right until the monster pokes his nose through the city gates. After that, I think I'll grab myself a drink or ten."

"Drinks well-earned, and on me, if you can find any bars open," Lionel said, tossing the old smith a small pouch bulging with coins.

* * *

Lucina sighed contentedly as she closed her eyes, enjoying the brief respite as she laid atop a small, grassy hill. "This is almost like being home," she said wistfully.

"Even with the racket they're making?" Harmony asked wryly. Only about twenty feet away, in a relatively flat meadow at the base of the hill, Severa, Owain, and Symphony were sparring noisily.

" _Especially_ with the racket. If anything, they aren't loud enough. Vaike alone is usually louder than those three put together," Lucina laughed.

"Vaike?" Harmony asked quizzically.

"An old friend of my father's. Lively, and often a bit… colorful," Lucina said, pausing slightly in search of the right word. "Whenever he got into an argument with my sister, or with Severa, you could hear them from about a mile off."

"That loud, huh?" Harmony said. She, too, laid back upon the hill. "I've always liked Gallia. Somehow, life just feels simpler out here. Kind of like Silent Grove, in a way. Though sometimes, it feels a little bit empty, too. I used to work alone, for the most part, and with how spread out everything is out here, it would feel as if the world had just gone to sleep around me."

"Harmony, do you know how many people live here in Gallia?" Lucina asked.

"Not exactly, but I do know that the beast tribes outnumber the bird and dragon tribes put together," Harmony replied.

Lucina sat up and looked to the south, a couple miles away, where a city lay sprawled across a small valley. "Are there larger cities elsewhere in Gallia? The capital doesn't seem very populous," she noted.

"Not really. Most of Gallia's population is nomadic. There's a lot of small villages spread throughout Gallia, but they never grow very big," Harmony explained.

"I guess a war would really throw their lives into disarray then," Lucina said, a bit of gloom creeping into her voice.

"I don't think it will come to war," Harmony said, though she sounded unsure. "Gallia has been peaceful ever since the time of the Radiant Hero. They wouldn't surrender their peace so easily, and after so many centuries, it will take a long time for them to truly mobilize their armies."

"I hope you're right," Lucina said.

"And _I_ hope the Laguz kings get back soon," Severa said, suddenly popping up beside them. Owain and Symphony followed, and slumped wearily to the ground, though Symphony looked quite pleased with himself.

"I finally landed a hit on her," Symphony explained elatedly, when Lucina looked at him questioningly.

"Only one," Severa said, rolling her eyes. "It only took you what, twenty bouts? That's about when I lost count."

"Hey, a step forward is a step forward, even if I have a mile left to go," Symphony said optimistically.

"Whatever," Severa said. "What I don't get is how we're supposed to protect anyone when we're stuck out here, half an hour away from the capital."

"Celera and Nasir are with them still. I'm sure the four of them can handle any trouble that arises," Lucina said reasonably.

"So we're just sitting out here waiting," Severa grumbled impatiently.

"At least until we're certain that they will be receptive towards Beorc foreigners," Harmony said with a shrug. "Cheer up. It shouldn't be too much longer."

"Not much longer at all," Owain agreed, gesturing towards the rough dirt path leading to the city.

Their four Laguz companions were faintly visible in the distance, heading in their direction. The five of them watched in silence as their Laguz companions approached.

"That looks promising," Severa muttered sarcastically, when the Laguz were at last close enough for their grim expressions to be visible.

"King Goldoa, King Phoenicis, is something wrong?" Lucina said, concerned.

"Queen Gallia assures us that she has no ill intentions toward Crimea at this time," Strife began. "But when she spoke, she seemed unnaturally guarded."

"As according to Gallian tradition, Gallia's new queen keeps a council of advisors. It is as Morgan warned us – many of them appear unhappy with the queen's decision. Some of them seem mistrustful of each other, and there were even a few who appeared to be suspicious of their queen," Kurth said.

"So… not a good time for a bunch of Beorc foreigners to drop in for a visit?" Symphony said.

Strife shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Tensions are particularly high right now, especially wherever Beorc are concerned. A band of Beorc mercenaries recently passed by this way, and were staying in the capital when the news of the attacks reached the queen and her advisors. When they heard the news, they pledged their loyalty to Gallia, and even offered their help," Strife said. "The queen turned their offer down, and they left straight after."

"Only, we don't think they were actually mercenaries," Celera interrupted.

Kurth nodded in agreement. "We weren't able to learn much about them, but the description of their leader matches the Redeemer sorceress we battled back in the Flameheart Mountains," he explained.

"That makes sense," Lucina said thoughtfully. "The Redeemers ambushed a Crimean patrol so that they could fake a Crimean invasion. Then they offer their support to Gallia, to try to push them towards war."

"Just like they 'helped' Lister back in Phoenicis," Harmony agreed.

"But if Gallia refuses their help, what then?" Severa wondered. "They can't afford to just sit and wait. Daein and Begnion are distracted right now, and Phoenicis is only beginning to recover. Still, it's only a matter of time before _someone_ steps in."

"The Redeemers can't win against a united Tellius," Kurth agreed. "They're going to have to make another move quickly, and if they can't do anything here in Gallia…"

"Then their only choice is to approach Crimea," Lucina reasoned.

"Crimea's king won't be easily swayed, though. King Geoffrey VII has been a trusted and capable ruler for over twenty years," Strife said. "He will easily see through the Redeemers' ploys if they try to push him towards war with Gallia."

"Maybe we should go take a look, just in case," Lucina suggested.

"It's not like there's much we can do around here," Severa quickly agreed. "Especially if we can't even meet with the queen without making her advisors nervous."

"True. Do we have enough warp powder to travel to Crimea, too?" Strife asked.

"Plenty," Severa assured. "Morgan left Lucy and me almost all the warp powder. She said she'll get more from Dad before setting off for Daein."

She and Lucina each quickly retrieved their half of the warp powder from their bags and doled it out to the others. "Where should we warp to?" Lucina asked, as she stashed her pouch, saving out a handful for herself.

In answer, Kurth brought forth a map of Crimea with his free hand, spreading it atop a relatively flat boulder. "I suggest we warp here, beside this lake," he recommended, indicating a body of water just south of the capital. "Isolated enough for us to safely rest and recover, but less than five miles from the capital city."

"Would it truly be dangerous to warp directly into Melior? Into Castle Crimea, even?" Strife said.

"I do not know," Kurth admitted.

"Better safe than sorry," Severa said with a shrug.

"It won't delay us too much," Harmony agreed.

"The lake it is, then," Strife said.

One by one, the companions cast their warp powder to the ground, summoning and disappearing into their conjured rifts, until only Lucina and Harmony remained.

"You go ahead. I'll be along in a minute," Harmony said absentmindedly, staring off into the distance.

After waiting several seconds, Lucina began to worry. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

Harmony shook her head. "I was just thinking that it might be nice to return after the war's ended, even if the quiet were to eventually grow unsettling. Come on. Let's go."

"You know," Lucina interrupted, just as Harmony was about to activate her warp powder. "When we return to Ylisse after the war is over, you're welcome to join us."

"Maybe," Harmony said noncommittally, though she seemed intrigued by the offer. "It would make leaving the past behind a bit easier, wouldn't it?"

"If only memories were so easily cast aside," Lucina remarked. "Let's go, before the others start worrying about us."

* * *

The heavy throne room door swung open.

"I'm back," Lionel announced as he stepped across the threshold, oblivious to the unannounced visitors waiting within.

In the distant corner of the throne room, amidst a pile of strange, magical paraphernalia, Morgan hopped to her feet. "Lionel!" she called cheerily. She stumbled slightly as she moved towards the center of the room, hampered by the warp powder she had recently used.

"Hello, Morgan," Lionel greeted warmly. He closed the door gently behind him, before turning to Micaiah, seated upon her throne. "Your guards told me you were alone, Mother."

"They would not allow me much privacy if they knew visitors could teleport directly into the throne room," Micaiah said.

"Their caution would be well-placed, given that our enemies are equally capable of creating and using warp powder," Soren remarked, as he and Felicia rose from their seats. "Besides, your guards should have realized something was afoot as soon as Morgan's mother departed for the stables with the two Pegasi."

"Hello, Leo," Felicia greeted.

"Felicia. It's been a while," Lionel replied, waving casually. "What's all this?"

"Some stuff Dad prepared for us," Morgan said. "Weapons that can deal with Extinction, hopefully."

"Hopefully?" Lionel asked.

"He didn't have much time to experiment with them," Morgan admitted. "We know they probably won't blow up in our face when we use them, but that's about it."

"Probably," Lionel echoed hollowly.

"So, how much time do we have before Extinction arrives?" Morgan asked, seemingly without noticing the prince's apprehensive stare.

"Two, maybe three days, assuming they maintain their current pace," Micaiah answered.

"They?" Morgan asked, startled.

"Extinction is not alone," Lionel explained. "He can conjure an army of ghostly soldiers to fight for him."

"We call them revenants. They appear to be images of those who perished within the eidolon's vicinity," Micaiah said.

"The last time we faced the dire eidolon, he summoned his minions after encountering us, the first real resistance along his course," Lionel added grimly. "This time, he isn't even bothering to wait. If our scouts' reports are accurate, he already has more revenants with him now than last time. There are revenants in the shape of Laguz amongst them, too." He glanced at the odd assortment of parts. "I don't think you'll have time to assemble… whatever this is."

"It should only take a few hours to assemble them," Morgan assured him hastily, not wanting to dwell on the thought of an undead army. "The hardest part will be finding good vantage points for them. Lionel, do you think you could give me a tour of the castle's walls? Maybe the city's walls, too."

"You may want to wait until you can walk steadily, first," Soren pointed out.

"I'm fine," Morgan insisted, taking a few steps experimentally. "See? How about it, Lionel?"

Lionel couldn't help but smile at her childishly eager expression. "Sure," he agreed readily. "But you should take this, first," he said, unstrapping the sheathed weapon on his belt and handing it over.

Only then did Morgan recognize the polished sheath. Her eyes lit up as Lionel passed her the sword, and, and shakily drew Eternity from its sheath, admiring its newly shimmering blade as she did. This time, her trembling had nothing to do with warp powder.

"It's beautiful," Morgan whispered, struggling to tear her gaze away from the bluish tinge in the blade until the sparkling gemstone drew her attention to the hilt instead.

Lionel looked uncomfortable when he saw Morgan eyeing the gem. "We – the blacksmith and I – aren't exactly sure what happened to the gem," Lionel apologized.

A vaguely blue light, similar to the tint of the blade, flickered within the ruby, giving it a slight, violet hue. Cordelia's neat lettering remained, though the carefully embossed letters seemed to possess a soft glow of their own as well. Morgan continued to inspect the hilt silently, as Soren and Felicia approached her for a better look.

"It's perfect. Everyone knows that a weapon's true purpose is to draw attention to itself," Soren remarked dryly.

Morgan shook her head quickly. "It's beautiful," she declared again, ignoring Soren.

"I'm glad you like it," Lionel said, relieved. "The blacksmith who reforged it is an old friend of mine. We had some, well, experimental magic, lying around. I thought it could help, but didn't expect it to affect the sword's appearance like this."

"You shouldn't have worried. Morgan's rather fond of 'experimental magic' herself," Soren said. He gestured towards the assortment of odds and ends they had brought with them from Begnion. "For example, the plans and parts to assemble untested magical siege engines amidst your castle's battlements."

"They aren't untested!" Morgan protested loudly.

Soren only stared at her with one eyebrow raised.

"Okay, well, maybe just a little bit," Morgan admitted. "But it'll be fine!"


	15. Chapter 10

**~ Chapter 10 ~**

 _"Happy birthday."_

 _At the sound of his old friend's voice, Ike pulled himself up from his cot into a sitting position. "Evening, Soren."_

 _"How are you feeling?" Soren asked. As he spoke, he collected a small wooden stool and dragged it to his old friend's bedside._

 _"Old," Ike replied, chuckling softly._

 _"You say that with each year's passing," Soren said, wearing a faint smile._

 _"Well, I feel older every year," Ike countered. With a groan, he laid himself back down and shut his eyes tightly. "On the other hand, this might be the last time you'll have to listen to me gripe about it."_

 _"You say_ that _every year, too," Soren reminded. "If the pattern holds, I'll have to listen to your griping for at least another thirty years to come."_

 _Ike began to laugh again, but found himself suddenly short of breath. "Probably not," Ike said, after his coughing fit subsided. "I think I've overstayed my welcome in this world already."_

 _Looking upon his old friend, Soren found it hard to argue. While he himself still looked the same way he had over six decades ago, Ike's age was painfully apparent. His old companion's blue hair had gone gray over a decade ago, and had grown only thinner and whiter since. Only hints of Ike's former tightly muscled frame remained, as his skin grew wrinkled and loose. "Maybe," Soren finally conceded. "But we've had a good run, haven't we?"_

 _"That we have. The road was longer than I had ever thought possible," Ike said peacefully._

 _"Somehow, I never thought I'd see the day when you started to speak in philosophical metaphors," Soren remarked, provoking another bout of laughter from the bedridden man._

 _"When you can't get yourself out of bed anymore, thinking is about all you can do," Ike replied cheerfully._

 _"You could try reading. I've amassed a sizable collection of books over the years," Soren offered._

 _"No thanks," Ike said. "Helen suggested the same thing, years ago. I could never really get into it. Maybe it has to do with having lived through one of the craziest stories myself."_

 _"Maybe," Soren agreed. "I read mostly scholarly texts for that very reason. With stories, authors often deviate too far from the source."_

 _"You mean like you did, with your retelling of our youthful misadventures?" Ike pointed out._

 _"I thought I stayed fairly true to the events that transpired," Soren replied with a shrug._

 _"Your writing was a bit too bright, I think," Ike said._

 _"Well, yes. I glossed over some of the darker truths of Tellius," Soren agreed. "They would only have detracted from the story. I'm surprised you read it."_

 _"It was Helen's idea. She wanted me to read it and tell her how accurate it was," Ike replied defensively._

 _"And how accurate did you find it?" Soren asked._

 _"I don't know, honestly," Ike said thoughtfully. "The events were the same, as were most of the names, but it felt as if I was reading about someone else's life entirely. It felt a lot messier when we were living through it. No regrets, though."_

 _"Satisfied with the way things turned out, then?" Soren asked._

 _"Pretty much," Ike answered with a shrug. "You'll look after Eirene for me, won't you? When I'm gone?"_

 _Soren eyed his old friend curiously. "Why? She's not a little girl anymore. She's a fully grown, capable adult. At her age, you were swinging your sword at a goddess."_

 _"Maybe it's selfish, but I can only hope that her life proves to be a little less exciting than mine," Ike said. "Still, as capable as she is, I worry about her. You and I are all she's had left, ever since Greil and his wife passed on. People aren't meant to live alone."_

 _"A bit ironic, coming from the man who left his family and friends, intending to start a new adventure on his own," Soren remarked._

 _"I invited you and Ranulf along, didn't I?" Ike said. "I wonder how he's doing."_

 _"The stress of saving the hotheaded lion prince from his own stupidity probably saw Ranulf to an early grave decades ago," Soren said. "Anyways, if it makes you feel any better, I'll probably remain in Azure Pyre for a few more years… and then some."_

 _"That comes as a relief. Eirene's quite fond of you, you know," Ike said._

 _"If she wasn't, it would make looking after her rather difficult, wouldn't it?" Soren said dryly._

 _"That's not what I…"_

 _"I know what you meant," Soren assured. "I'm not as oblivious as you were, Ike."_

 _"Me? Oblivious?" Ike protested indignantly._

 _"Have you forgotten Princess Elincia already?" Soren said. "And don't get me started on that merchant girl that traveled across Tellius with us."_

 _"Princess Elincia was our client. Our relationship was entirely professional," Ike grumbled. "And I don't remember any merchant girl."_

 _"You don't remember her at all? Maybe you are going senile, after all," Soren teased. His expression grew serious once more. "You know what I am, Ike. So does Eirene, for that matter. She knows that her dreams are only dreams."_

 _"I know how you've decided your life must be," Ike corrected. "Though I still hope that you'll one day reconsider, for your own sake. You can't expect me to believe that the life of a recluse hasn't grown a bit dull, at least."_

 _"Life is what it is," Soren replied simply. "Besides, even if I didn't intend to live out the rest of my life alone, she's your granddaughter. It would be rather awkward, to say the least. Also, I thought grandfathers were supposed to stress themselves over keeping men_ away _from their granddaughters."_

 _Ike shrugged. "One day, when you're older, you'll understand. All that really matters to me is whether those I care about live out their lives happily."_

 _"I'm only a few years younger than you are," Soren reminded._

 _"One day when you're closer to death, then," Ike amended with a crooked grin. "Give it some thought, won't you?"_

* * *

"Faster, Morgan. Faster," Felicia urged. "Don't let go of your momentum."

Obediently, Morgan lunged forward, leading with her left hand. Her wooden sword clattered loudly against the Begnion general's. Morgan then swept her leading weapon to the left to bring her right-hand blade sweeping inward for a horizontal slash.

"Better," Felicia said approvingly, bringing her own off-hand weapon up in time to parry. With their blades locked, the clever general then slid her own blade forward against Morgan's, ending in a short thrust.

Seeing her intent, Morgan backed off immediately, reversing her grip on her other sword and launching a backhanded slash across from the other direction. When her attack found only air, she allowed the weight of her swing to carry her away from her opponent, before whirling back in an even stance.

"That's quite an improvement."

Startled, Morgan turned to find Soren leaning comfortably against the doorframe of the training room. "No thanks to you," Morgan retorted, trying to hide her surprise.

Soren shook his head, seeing through her ploy easily enough. "I'm glad you pay more attention during a real battle than while you are training," Soren said.

"Me too," Morgan agreed cheerfully. Thanks to Severa, she was quite aware of her own tendency to be easily distracted. "Did you need something, Soren?"

Soren shook his head slowly. "Nothing urgent. We've found enough priests and priestesses, stationing one beside each of the six magical ballistae," he reported.

"Oh, good," Morgan said. "Did we test anymore of the lecterns?"

"On what? People's houses?" Soren scoffed.

"Maybe we could set up some targets throughout the city," Morgan suggested.

"It's too dangerous," Soren dismissed, shaking his head. "Most of Nevassa's civilians have vacated the city, but many insisted on staying. We'll bring them into the castle for safety right before the fighting begins, but for now, they're still dispersed throughout the city. The deserted marketplace where we set up the targets last night is the only place we can safely test the ballistae, and is only within range of one of the ballistae. Besides, without an eidolon to test them against, we won't know how effective they really are, anyways."

"True," Morgan conceded. "But at least the one we tested last night worked. I guess that's the best we can do." She turned back to her sparring partner. "Ready?"

"Always," Felicia replied confidently.

"Wait," Soren interrupted. "Morgan, you've been alternating your weapons rhythmically. Your routine is quick and easy to manage, but also dangerously predictable," he warned. "Any opponent that you cannot overwhelm with speed alone can catch onto your pattern and punish the openings you're leaving."

"But…" Morgan began to protest.

"It's fine to lead with one weapon," Soren said, continuing over her protests. "But you don't have to wait until your first attack or parry is complete. Imagine your off-hand weapon as a second warrior, a partner fighting at your side. She doesn't have to take turns attacking, she can stand by, covering any openings you leave, or flank your target by striking at the same time."

Morgan considered his words thoughtfully, but wasn't entirely sure how to put them into practice. The prospect of maintaining two distinct rhythms was daunting. Picturing it as fighting beside a partner didn't help, for it was hard to ignore the limited range of motion on each of her weapons. Finally, she surrendered and decided to revisit Soren's advice at a later date. She nodded slightly towards Felicia, indicating that she was ready to continue, and their duel began anew.

Once again, the two quickly found a comfortable rhythm. This time, though, Morgan couldn't help but notice that Felicia was seemingly in full control of the battle. The two of them were relying on the same basic techniques, exchanging power for speed with their secondary weapons, but the general was innately faster and stronger than she was. Only then did she begin to understand Soren's reasoning.

Morgan had just begun moving instinctively towards her next parry when an idea struck her. Instead, she abruptly stepped back, retreating a short distance and buying enough time to subtly adjust her grip on both of her weapons. Felicia stepped forward to compensate, sweeping her right-hand blade downward in a diagonal stroke.

Morgan's blades snapped up in tandem, forming a lopsided cross and catching Felicia's attack. The clever tactician then snapped her blades outward and reversed one before rushing forward, pivoting repeatedly and spinning her blades around her.

Caught off guard, Felicia backed away hastily, trying to recover her footing. She presented one of her weapons defensively as she did, hoping to slow Morgan's wild spin. Backed by her mounting momentum, Morgan easily swept the improvised parry aside, upsetting Felicia's balance further.

Noticing her advantage, Morgan cut her next step short and stopped her spin, leaving her facing off squarely against the general. She then launched a series of quick thrusts, alternating her weapons between each strike, moving clockwise in a circle around her opponent.

Felicia caught on quickly, and after parrying the fifth thrust, she was already moving to an even stance to meet the next. Only then did she realize that Morgan had reversed her direction after her last strike.

Rather than trying to awkwardly bring her right-hand weapon across, Morgan simply lashed out with her left-hand sword again in an upward, diagonal slash. Panicked, Felicia stumbled away awkwardly as Morgan lunged forward, thrusting with both weapons, with her right-hand sword striking from a lower angle. Both training blades slipped past Felicia's, one jabbing the general lightly on the shoulder, and the other slapping against her side.

Morgan immediately retracted her weapons. Her expression perfectly mirrored Felicia's astonished look.

"That was pretty clever," Felicia congratulated, once she had gotten over her surprise.

"It worked out better than I expected," Morgan admitted.

"That's because it was more effective than it should have been," Soren remarked. "You're not accustomed to fighting with two blades at once, are you, Felicia?"

"Not really," Felicia said. "I prefer fighting with one. With two, I can keep from tangling myself up, but that's about it."

"You were keeping your blades clear of one another," Soren noted. "When Morgan changed directions and took you by surprise, you attempted to parry from an awkward angle, and your second sword was really just in your way. You should have brought the second sword inward instead, forming a cross and catching both of Morgan's blades."

"You're right," Felicia acknowledged, after a moment's thought. "It's hard for me to ignore what comes reflexively, though. I've tried this style many times, but I still find that I prefer using just one sword." She casually drew her own sword from her belt, then twirled and sheathed it in a quick flourish.

"Most do," Soren said simply.

"What about you?" Felicia asked teasingly. "What's your preference, oh Master Swordsman?"

"Hardly a master," Soren replied. "Just someone who spent far longer than strictly necessary studying techniques he never intended to use."

"Really? Could you teach me more of them?" Morgan asked eagerly.

"Certainly. How about using a sword and bow at the same time?" Soren suggested dryly.

Morgan stared at him dubiously. "How could that possibly work?"

"Nock your sword as if it were an arrow, then when you release the string, you can watch your sword tumble to the ground," Soren explained in the same deadpan tone.

"That's a winning technique right there," Felicia said with a laugh. She turned back to Morgan. "Another round? I'll just use one sword this time."

"Maybe you two should get some rest instead," Soren suggested. "Our enemy should be arriving tomorrow. Besides, Morgan and I are supposed to meet with Lionel to discuss any final adjustments to our battle plans."

"I thought we weren't supposed to meet until after sunset," Morgan said, frowning. "He needs time to distribute the current plans first, doesn't he?"

In answer, Soren gestured towards the nearby window.

Morgan flinched upon seeing that it was already dark outside. "Oh. I didn't realize it was that late already."

"Wait a moment. If you're making any final changes, shouldn't they happen _before_ the plans are distributed?" Felicia interrupted.

"I thought you were supposed to be a general," Soren remarked.

"Only in name," Felicia admitted. "Emperor Yashiro wasn't expecting any trouble to arise when he gave me my title. I'm not really one for strategizing, or leading, for that matter."

"That's reasonable," Morgan said, as Soren fell thoughtfully silent. "Well, Daein's army is a bit of a mess right now," she explained. "They were in a rush when they distributed their supplies, and several soldiers have deserted their posts to flee the capital with their families. Since we don't know if our records about Daein's army are still up-to-date, we asked the prince to distribute the plans we drafted to the army's officers. Hopefully, they will let us know if there are any flaws in our plans."

"It's really not as urgent as it sounds," Soren added. "Any changes at this point should be superficial."

"Still, we shouldn't keep the prince waiting," Morgan insisted. "He's probably looking for us already. Sorry, General."

"Don't worry about it," Felicia replied, brushing off the apology. "See you tomorrow."

* * *

By daybreak, Daein's army, comprised of a full three thousand soldiers, stood ready. All of the civilians who had not fled the city had been brought into the safety of Castle Daein, and the streets had been cleared, leaving a path open for a quick retreat if it proved necessary. Four hundred soldiers waited just outside the western wall in neat rows, standing beside their armored warhorses, while the rest stood among the fortified battlements.

Though the rest of Begnion's forces had yet to arrive, the famed Begnion Holy Guard waited just behind the walls, out of the way of their Daein allies. The well-trained soldiers and their winged steeds held their crisp formations, similar to the cavalry stationed in front of the wall, awaiting their signal to rise and join the frontlines.

Only three of the Pegasi remained amidst Daein's forces, waiting alongside their riders atop the wall. Commander Kara was as silent as her soldiers below, ready to rally her knights at a moment's notice. Cordelia stood close behind her daughter protectively, as Morgan leaned over the parapets, nervously searching for any sign of the enemy.

Soren eyed the younger tactician curiously, though he refrained from commenting for some time, reasoning that if Morgan's own mother wasn't concerned, he had no reason to be. Eventually, her agitated state made him feel a bit uneasy, too. "Is something wrong, Morgan?" he asked.

Morgan glanced at him, surprised to hear him sounding even remotely sympathetic. "Not really," she said. "I was just thinking of the risen. Did you ever encounter them in Azure Pyre?"

"Once or twice, but only in small numbers," Soren answered. "They unnerved some of the younger fighters, but they weren't nearly as dangerous as they looked."

"I guess," Morgan said, unconvinced.

"Is this about the revenants that Micaiah and Lionel mentioned?" Soren asked.

Morgan did not answer, choosing to remain silent instead as she continued staring into the distant horizon.

"I didn't expect you to be disconcerted by your enemy's appearances," Soren remarked. "And from Lionel's description, they don't have the same deathly look that the risen did. They don't sound nearly as grotesque or revolting."

"That's what bothers me," Morgan admitted quietly. "The risen looked like monsters, through and through. Still, after the war was over, I often wondered whether there was anything left of the person the risen had once been."

Soren, too, looked to the west and the empty horizon. "Appearances can be deceptive, Morgan. The revenants may look more human than the risen, or they may look less, but neither would definitively answer your question. All we can know for sure is that they are our enemies. Even if some sliver of the person's identity remained intact, what difference does it truly make? How is it any different from battling the Laguz soldiers who he deceived and pressed into battle? Or the free-willed Redeemers fighting for a cause they may or may not understand?"

Morgan silently contemplated the analogy for several seconds. "I guess you're right. I'm worrying over nothing again, aren't I?" she said with a soft, self-deprecating laugh.

"Well, there are many who label death life's ultimate mystery. It's natural to be curious, and you're a particularly inquisitive individual, to say the least," Soren said.

Morgan glanced at him oddly, unsure of whether she had just been complimented or insulted.

"It's not a bad thing," Soren said, answering her unspoken question. "But it _will_ frustrate you, since you will never find all the answers you seek."

"Good. It _is_ distracting, though," Morgan said.

"Well, you're an easily distracted person," Soren said lightly. "Though, oddly enough, you seem to have no difficulty remaining focused during a battle."

"Yeah," Morgan agreed, cheering up slightly. "I guess you're right. I'll just have to settle for not getting myself killed."

Before Soren could respond, numerous faint shadows appeared over the distant horizon. They grew darker as they slowly approached city, but they were too far for their individual shapes to be distinguished, and formed a dark curtain, blotting out part of the sky.

"That's good enough," Soren said softly.

"Huh?" Morgan asked, wearing a puzzled look.

"Not getting yourself killed," Soren clarified.

"Oh. Right," Morgan said sheepishly.

There was a chorus of soft gasps and sharp intakes of breath as the other soldiers began to stir, having spotted their inbound foes. Morgan whistled softly, and Catria trotted to her side. Only a short distance away, Cordelia and Kara summoned their steeds as well, with the Begnion commander turning back to signal to the rest of her knights.

* * *

Beneath the shadow of their mighty city's wall, Daein's riders held their position confidently, waiting for their enemies to draw closer. Their dark, winged foes approached gradually, appearing almost hesitant.

At first, even the revenants' shadowy silhouettes were hard to distinguish from one another, but as they drew closer, the shapes of large hawks and ravens became clearly visible. They appeared much as they did in life, only greatly discolored, and with streaks of crimson lightning pulsating randomly across their ghostly forms.

Then, a band of mounted revenants crested the distant hill, mirroring the mounted defenders. The undead riders bore a distinct similarity to their living counterparts, with similarly shaped armor, and the same plumed helms. Like the Laguz revenants soaring above them, they and their steeds appeared almost pitch-black, illuminated only by the same streaks of red energy. They trotted forward briskly, catching up to their flying allies and coming to a rest only a few hundred paces away from the Daein riders.

Daein's mounted knights eyed their unnatural foes cautiously, uncertain why the approaching army would simply stop their march.

A deep, primal roar answered their question, echoing loudly across the soon-to-be battlefield. A massive quadruped beast followed in the wake of his minions. His ebon, skeletal form flared with the same reddish lightning that marked the revenants, and the thick, lustrous white mane of long hairs across his back stiffened. The revenants echoed their master's roar, shaking the air with an ominous chorus of bird-like shrieks and human cries, brimming with the beast's pent-up anger.

Then, as one, the extension of the mighty eidolon, the heralds of Extinction, charged forth into battle.

* * *

As soon as Extinction's riders crashed against the formations of Daein's cavalry, the revenant Laguz soared downward, showing no interest in their aerial foes. The Pegasus knights responded immediately, diving to intercept in hopes of keep the Daein riders from being overwhelmed.

Soaring alongside the others, Morgan drew her tome, hoping that these enemies wouldn't have mysteriously found a source of pure water, too. "At least this time, I don't need to worry about not being able to tell which of you are on my side," she muttered grimly. She quickly selected a target from the mass of flying revenants before her and invoked her tome. A carefully-aimed fireball shot forth, hitting its mark and disintegrating the revenant almost instantaneously.

Morgan sent a second, and then a third fireball soaring into the fray as the other Pegasus knights flurried by, bringing their lances to bear. Though the ghostly Laguz were as swift as their living counterparts, the coordinated movements of the famed Holy Guard swept through their ranks easily, cutting a devastating swath.

Afraid of hitting an ally by mistake, Morgan stashed her tome. She reached for Alondite, but changed her mind at the last second, drawing Eternity instead. Just as it had when Lionel first returned it to her, the sword's weight felt comfortably familiar. Morgan directed her Pegasus towards the outskirts of the battle, before homing in upon one of the flying revenants. Eternity's silvery edge glittered as the fine blade sheared effortlessly through the shadowy creature.

Satisfied, Morgan turned in search of her next target, only to find that the majority of their airborne foes had already been vanquished. The battle below was quickly turning to their favor as well, as so far, the dire eidolon seemed content to stand back while his minions charged into the waiting lances.

Quite naturally, Morgan turned her attention to Extinction instead. The beast was marching slowly, but steadily towards the battle, seemingly indifferent to how fast his minions were being dispatched. Morgan studied the creature's fifty-foot frame closely, finding some degree of familiarity in its shape and rolling, swaggering gait. "First a whale. Then a dragon… according to Severa and Lucina, anyways. And now you. A lion?" she mused quietly. "Or maybe a wolf?" she corrected, remembering the beast's howl at the beginning of the battle. "Maybe you're afraid of fire, too."

Eager to test her theory, Morgan dove past her allies and the remaining revenants, quickly closing the gap between her and the eidolon. She brandished her tome, calling forth the most powerful spell she could muster. A torrent of sweltering amethyst flames gushed forth, engulfing the massive beast.

Then the flames subsided, revealing the unscathed beast's intense, baleful glare.

"Oops," Morgan gulped.

Extinction howled again, then tore a large clump of rock and dirt free from the earth in one of his large, powerful claws.

"Get us out here," Morgan urged her Pegasus, who banked hard and went into an immediate dive. The shoddy projectile, flung with blinding speed, only narrowly missed her. It showered her with dirt and pebbles, upsetting her course, before flying past and striking a less fortunate Pegasus knight and nearly tearing her apart as it ripped her from her startled steed.

"Faster!" Morgan cried. As Catria sped away from the eidolon, Morgan looked around frantically for any sign of the Begnion commander, hoping to signal a retreat and lure the monstrosity closer to the wall.

Extinction let out another devastatingly loud roar, halting Morgan's search. The tactician clapped her hands to her ears, hoping to drown out the noise. Dazed, she barely noticed the inky black points, resembling spearheads, protruding from the ground sporadically around the dire eidolon.

Rippling pools of darkness spread outward from them, crackling sinisterly as dark shapes tore themselves from the cursed gates. Revenants streamed forth from each of the nearest pools, taking the shape of Beorc foot soldiers and cavalry. Winged, unarmored humanoid silhouettes emerged from the more distant pools, quickly distorting into more animalistic proportions before soaring up to join the fray.

Extinction only roared again, as his new wave of revenants rolled forward in a menacing, black and crimson tide.

* * *

"Now, Soren?" Lionel asked urgently, watching the arrivals of the newly summoned revenants with trepidation.

"Not yet," Soren answered calmly. "The eidolon isn't within our range yet."

"If he keeps summoning more revenants, we're going to be overrun," Lionel warned.

"We were expecting our soldiers to be more than a match for the revenants," Soren reminded.

"That was based on our last battle with the eidolon," Lionel argued. "Already, he has summoned thrice as many revenants as he did the last time we faced him, and he could very well summon even more!"

"Which is precisely why we must wait," Soren replied in a bored tone. "We know he's stronger than the last time you encountered him, but not by how much. For all we know, his minions could very well be effectively endless. He's approaching us confidently right now, but if we reveal our ballistae too early, he may decide to fall back and siege us continuously instead."

Lionel surveyed the battle below uncomfortably, unable to argue with the tactician's logic. Though the first engagement had been an easy victory, Extinction's unexpected reinforcements had put Daein's riders on the back foot. To make matters worse, more of the dark pools were spreading in Extinction's wake as he advanced, spouting additional revenants.

"Our soldiers will retreat, as instructed," Soren said, hoping to calm the prince. "The beast will soon be..." he began, though his voice trailed off abruptly.

"Soren?" Lionel asked warily, surprised to see the old tactician's composure slip.

"We have a problem. Look; those revenants are carrying tomes," Soren said, suddenly sounding tense.

Lionel stared at the continuous stream of revenant foot soldiers, bristling with lances. Try as he might, he could not find any mages among them.

"Up there," Soren urged, gesturing above the dire eidolon.

Obediently, Lionel directed his gaze upward, and found several winged, humanoid silhouettes. Each of them carried a small, rectangular object, clutched against his or her chest, and their wings seemed unnaturally smooth. "Are those Laguz?" Lionel whispered in confusion.

As if in answer to the prince's question, the revenants transformed. Their shapes warped and twisted, and their tomes seemed to disappear entirely. The revenants seemed to shrink a bit, and the leathery shape of their wings became more pronounced.

A trio of Pegasus knights moved to engage one of the smaller flying revenants, carefully aligning themselves for a flank. The three struck in unison, evidently planning to overwhelm it from all sides.

The revenant spun to face one of the three knights directly, and flapped both wings forward. A cone of scintillating light erupted, enveloping the unfortunate night and her steed and blinding the other two. The spell broke through the Pegasus' innate resistance, slaying her and her rider instantaneously.

Before either of the surviving two knights could recover, two more of the smaller revenants joined the fray. Spheres of light, resembling large marbles, swirled into the two knights, blasting them out of the air.

"Light magic?" Lionel gasped.

"Revenants of bat Laguz, like the girl we left behind in Begnion," Soren recognized grimly. "This isn't good. Their magic must be quite powerful to overcome a Pegasus's innate resistance. Pull them back, Lionel. Quickly."

Without question, Lionel pulled a small, colored flag from his belt, and turned to wave it towards a nearby signal tower. A moment later, the soldiers atop the tower echoed his signal, waving a much larger flag and signaling to all the soldiers outside the wall to fall back.

* * *

Cordelia watched in horror as the powerful light spells connected, and the dead Pegasus knights and their Pegasi tumbled towards the hard ground below. Like Soren, she was shocked to see how powerful the revenants' magic was.

Then, the bat Laguz revenants began drifting outward, and Cordelia snapped out of her trance. Following her first instinct, she turned in search of her daughter, and quickly spotted Morgan, hovering a safe distance away and scrutinizing the deadly, magic-slinging revenants.

She hastened over to the girl's side, drawing her staff as she went. "Morgan!" she called out, before invoking the staff. Then, knowing that she could not use cast the staff's magic upon herself, Cordelia tossed the staff over.

Morgan understood immediately, and, after deftly catching the staff, reciprocated the spell.

"Be careful," Cordelia warned. "I'm not sure the staff will be enough."

"I'll be fine," Morgan assured confidently, remembering that the robe Micaiah had given her had enchantments of its own to protect her from magic. Fearlessly, she swept past the nearest hawk and raven revenants.

The bat revenant sensed her approach and whirled about to face her, firing off a searing beam of light, but Morgan was too quick. She swerved past the beam and promptly glided by, cutting it down as she soared past.

Another pair of revenants moved to retaliate, catching Morgan in a pincer and leaving her no room to maneuver. Unbothered, the tactician simply charged one directly. Light magic assailed her as she closed the distance, but only glanced off of her harmlessly as she skewered the one of the two revenants. Behind her, Cordelia weaved past the spells and brought down the second revenant with a well-placed javelin.

"Morgan, the others are retreating," Cordelia warned. "We can't stay out here alone."

"Yeah. Let's go," Morgan agreed, turning her Pegasus around.

Light flared before her as she turned, blinding her. A painful sensation creeped through her as the powerful spell assailed her layers of resistive magic. Morgan clung desperately to her Pegasus's reins, unable to see. Though blinded, she was fully aware of her predicament. Guessing that her attacked would try to charge in and finish her off, she fired off a flurry of flames before her.

When her world came back into focus, she saw that her guess had proved correct. Her victim was dropping haphazardly, struggling desperately and shrouded in magical flames. A javelin spiraled through the air past Morgan, striking the flaming, winged figure.

"Are you alright?" Cordelia asked, racing to her daughter's side and frantically searching for any sign of serious injury.

"I'm fine," Morgan assured. "Nice throw," she said admiringly, watching as her mother's javelin impaled the twisted figure and bore into the soil below, pinning the writhing fiend to the ground. Her expression then became one of surprise when the flames diminished, revealing the figure's skeletal, eidolon-like appearance.

"Come on, Morgan," Cordelia urged, snapping Morgan out of her contemplative trance.

* * *

Unlike their hawk and raven brethren, the sorcerous revenants forced their way past the Pegasus knights with ease, and were left free to wreak havoc upon Daein's cavalry below. The skilled knights had been holding their own against the images of their predecessors, but the relentless magical assault from above proved too much, thinning their ranks quickly. When the flag finally rose, signaling a retreat, they were quick to fall back, with the revenants hounding them all the while.

The disciplined soldiers maintained their defensive formations, destroying many of the revenants as they withdrew, but the damage was done. By the time they reached the wall once more, their numbers had been cut in half, and the throng of revenants had only grown. Still, they had played their role to near-perfection. Their true target, the dire eidolon, was now standing amidst his army.

The revenants rushed ahead, hoping to overwhelm Daein's cavalry as they filed through the open gates. They were met with a veritable storm of arrows. Volley after volley soared down from the wall, slaying hundreds of revenants. New pools of darkness emerged, and more revenants poured forth, only to be slain almost instantaneously.

Then disaster struck, as the dire eidolon joined the fray personally. The beast lifted his massive, disproportionately wide tail, and slammed it brutally into the ground, leaving a deep indentation and shaking the ground violently. Then, with a powerful leap, Extinction soared nearly two hundred feet, closing the remaining distance and landing amidst the Daein cavalry, crushing several soldiers. Before the other soldiers could begin to respond, the eidolon slammed the ground again, this time with his heavy paw. The forceful blow crushed another unfortunate soldier and sent vicious tremors outwards, throwing several other horsemen from their steeds.

Arrows and javelins peppered the eidolon from above, but Extinction simply ignored them and charged a few steps, parallel to the wall, sending soldiers scattering in every direction. He crouched momentarily, then spun, ruthlessly smashing Daein's soldiers and his own revenants alike.

Worse still, the same motion sent his tail slamming into the thick stone walls, tearing out a massive chunk, and dropping the archers atop that section to their deaths.

* * *

Atop the wall, Soren cursed himself silently as he backed away. Had had not expected the massive creature to be capable of leaping so far, and had understood its intent too late to warn the others.

The priests standing ready by their lecterns appeared to have been thrown off, too. Respecting the shortened range of the magical ballistae, they had been adjusting their aim gradually, following the beast's course. None of them had been prepared for Extinction's leap forward, and now, none of their ballistae were properly aligned. All four were scrambling to adjust their sights, even as the city's walls began crumbling around them.

Extinction slammed into the wall again, causing it to tremble tilt inwards. This time, the eidolon had struck directly below one of the four ballistae. The wall collapsed, bringing the siege weapon, the priest, and the nearby archers with it.

On the opposite end of the wall, one of the ballistae had been readied at last. The priestess stationed by it quickly channeled her tome into the lectern, infusing the heavy bolt with light magic. There was a loud click, and the bolt was gone, spinning through the air and leaving a sparkling trail of light in its wake.

Few atop the wall or in the chaotic battle below were able to watch the projectile hit its mark, but the beast's agonized howl still came as a gratifying relief.

Until the enraged eidolon spun again, furiously smashing apart another segment of the wall and sending more soldiers falling to their doom. He then seized a portion of the broken wall and flung it through the air in the direction of the offending ballista.

* * *

The walls were lost.

To give Lionel credit, he saw their predicament as soon as the second ballista collapsed, and hailed the signal tower, calling for a full retreat towards the castle. Still, his split second decision was a split second too late. Even as the soldiers upon the tower raised another of their flags, six revenants slipped through the chaos and descended upon it, scouring it with killing lights spells.

The short-lived signal only inspired greater chaos and confusion. Laguz revenants swooped back and forth across the battlements, picking off Daein's foot soldiers one at a time as they fled down the wide stone steps. Panic reigned, and the armored forms of the fallen soldiers only clogged the staircases further.

Seeing that the stairs offered no escape, Soren irritably reached out and seized Lionel by the prince ran by, trying to restore order. "It's too late. This way," Soren called curtly, almost shouting just to be heard over the clamorous din.

Soren raced to the inner edge of the wall, dragging the protesting prince with him as he leapt, unconcerned with the steep drop. The wind came in answer to his summons, blowing towards them and slowing their descent enough for them to land safely.

As soon as he found his footing once more, Lionel turned back towards the stairs, hoping to help more of his men escape the bloodbath.

Soren, too, moved towards the base of the staircase, confronting the first soldier he met. "The wall is lost. We're retreating towards the castle. Get back there and warn the others," Soren ordered harshly.

The soldier seemed dazed, and only nodded stupidly.

"Go!" Soren roared.

* * *

Morgan drifted away from the raging battle, watching in horror as the disaster unfolded below them. Of the four magical ballistae positioned upon the city's outer walls, only two had managed to fire. One shot had missed entirely. The other had hits its mark, and though it had seemed more effective than Morgan's earlier fireball, the magically empowered bolt had only enraged the eidolon further.

Several of the mundane ballistae had fired as well, but their bolts had proven entirely ineffective. Two of those bolts struck the eidolon before bouncing off harmlessly. The rest had been fired into the throng of revenants, but there seemed to be no end to Extinction's horde of minions.

"We can't fight him out here," Morgan whispered. Her thoughts went out to the last two ballistae, positioned on Castle Daein's walls. Fleeing into a corner was hardly ideal, but with the city walls breached and their soldiers being overrun, they were quickly running out of options. "Mom!" Morgan called, making her decision quickly.

Cordelia was flying nearby, and quickly dispatched her immediate foe with a clean swipe of her lance before whirling around and soaring to Morgan's side. "What is it, Morgan?"

"We can't hold the dire eidolon here much longer. Could you go warn Queen Micaiah, and ask her to send out some of the reserves to cover us while we retreat?" Morgan asked.

A shadow flickered across Cordelia's expression. Then, instead of setting off towards the castle, she accosted the nearest Begnion Pegasus knight instead. "You there!" she called. "The wall is lost. Fly back to the castle and warn the queen, and ask her to send reinforcements to cover our retreat!"

"Quickly!" Morgan urged, when the Pegasus knight looked hesitant.

"I'm sorry, Morgan," Cordelia apologized as the other Pegasus set off for the castle.

Morgan stared at her, puzzled.

"A few years ago, my comrades ordered me to abandon them and carry a warning to our allies," Cordelia explained. "That warning may have won us the war later, but none of my comrades survived. I can't leave my allies behind again, _especially_ when my own daughter is among them."

Morgan winced, remembering the story of Ylisse's Pegasus knights and the Second Plegian War. "I'm sorry," she mumbled apologetically. "I shouldn't have…"

"Focus, Morgan," Cordelia insisted, brushing the apology aside as she drew a javelin and hurled it into an approaching revenant. "This isn't a suicide mission, is it? We still have a retreat to coordinate. Could you pass me my staff?"

"Right, sorry," Morgan said hastily. She drew the staff and refreshed the magical protection on her mother before handing the staff over. Cordelia then recast the protective spell on her daughter, too, and the two of them rejoined the battle once more, fighting off their relentless pursuers.

Word of their retreat spread quickly, and as soon as the battle turned to their favor once more, Begnion's Pegasus knights regrouped into a coordinated, defensive formation, with carefully aligned weaving patterns to keep the remaining Laguz revenants away from the fleeing soldiers below.

* * *

Soren surveyed the commotion around him impassively. With great effort, he had gathered a sizable troop of the fleeing soldiers. Some were hard at work, maintaining a clear path for the others to retreat. The rest were entrenched defensively around the torn and battered market square.

Soren had chosen his post carefully. Fleeing soldiers streamed through the square constantly. One of Daein's commanders waited at the center of the square, adhering to Soren's instructions and collecting a few of the new arrivals to relieve the wounded or weary defenders. Trusting in the commander not to foul up the defense too badly, the old tactician ignored the constant buzz and looked up to the sky, watching as the aerial battle moved slowly and methodically towards the castle.

"Well done, Morgan," Soren congratulated quietly. The Pegasus knights were clearly retreating, too, but their fluid, weaving maneuvers were a far cry from the crisp and rigid formations the Holy Guard was renowned for. Again and again, small teams of Pegasi branched away from their allies to strike at and slow their pursuers, but the individual squads covered one another continuously, minimizing their own losses.

A series of cries brought Soren's attention back to his own position. Several revenant cavaliers had burst into the market square, running down Daein's fleeing foot soldiers. The archers positioned around the square were moving to respond, raining arrows upon the mounted revenants. Unfortunately, their movements had also left some of the alley ways undefended. "Get some archers back to the northern alley!" Soren roared at the commander frantically, seeing the opening and guessing that the flying revenants would be close behind the enemy cavalry.

The commander obeyed, ordering several archers back to their posts as he recruited more from the fleeing soldiers. The archers reached their post only just in time; a trio of revenant horsemen came racing down the distant ally, with several of their hawk revenant allies flying overhead. Dozens of arrows met their approach, bringing them down almost immediately.

Though they had emerged unscathed from the potential crisis, their minor victory offered Soren only a small measure of comfort. He shook his head in frustration, silently wishing that they had had more time to properly organize the city's defenders.


	16. Chapter 11

**~ Chapter 11 ~**

Severa fidgeted impatiently, subtly shifting her balance from one foot to the other. It was a poor substitute for pacing, and only mildly better than standing perfectly still, but she felt obligated to remain as inconspicuous as possible during her royal companions' conversation with the Crimean king. "And I thought this would be less boring than hanging around in an empty meadow," she mumbled discontentedly.

Overhearing her friend, Lucina turned around and glanced at Severa subtly. Severa shut up immediately, but far from being upset, Lucina only smiled and shrugged helplessly. Princess or not, Lucina had inherited her father's impatience, and was every bit as bored as Severa.

Both women snapped back to attention a second later, when they realized Kurth had finally finished his long-winded recounting.

King Geoffrey, a middle-aged man with dark cyan hair, shook his head solemnly, seeming thoroughly unconcerned. "Thank you for your warnings, King Goldoa. I assure you, despite the many rumors, Crimea harbors no ill intent towards Gallia, or anyone else."

"Given the transpiring events, we're a bit more concerned with Queen Carina's intentions than yours," Strife remarked lightly. "We have just come from Gallia, where Queen Carina's advisors professed the same peaceful desires. And yet, after their centuries-long winter of peace, Gallia seems to be stirring."

"The streets of Melior are abuzz with rumors, King Crimea. From what we heard, Crimea is mobilizing her armies. Excuse my presumption, but you seem to share our fears," Kurth said.

"It is a precautionary measure only," Geoffrey insisted. "I know young Queen Carina well, and do not expect any trouble from Gallia, but not all of my people share my confidence. I have increased our routine patrols in hopes that it will assuage those unfounded fears, and in case the perpetrators of the grisly massacres in Gallia resurface to threaten Crimea next."

"Didn't this entire mess begin with one of your patrols being ambushed?" Severa blurted out. As all eyes turned to her, she winced uncomfortably, regretting her interruption.

But to her surprise, the king only nodded agreeably. "True," he admitted readily. "In the absence of any real information regarding the danger, we doubled the size of each of our patrols. In light of your story, I am now uncertain as to whether that was enough."

"And what of Gallia's accusations? Have you already sought a personal audience with Queen Gallia?" Kurth asked.

"I have," Geoffrey confirmed. "Though I cannot leave Melior while it remains in a state of such unrest, my daughter is traveling to Gallia on my behalf. She and her entourage should be arriving soon, and return to Melior within a fortnight, hopefully with a formal invitation to meet with the queen and her advisors."

"Hopefully," Strife agreed.

"Queen Gallia and I both seek nothing but to protect the peace in our respective countries," Geoffrey said. "She will accede to my request, and together, we will resolve the troubles that have come upon us. King Goldoa, King Phoenicis, if either or both of you wish to attend our summit, you and your companions are welcome to remain here in Melior until we receive word from Gallia," he invited.

"Princess Celera and I must return to Phoenicis as soon as possible," Strife apologized. "My people remain in disarray, and it will be some time until we've recovered fully from Lister's insurrection."

"I, too, must return to my people soon," Kurth said. "But if time permits, I will rejoin you here in Melior in time for your summit."

"Very well," Geoffrey said. "But I've asked my servants to set aside quarters for you and your companions, anyways. The road ahead promises to be long and exhausting. You are welcome to stay the night and rest for a while before returning to your journey, if you'd like."

* * *

"Look out! He's headed this way!"

"Stay out of his path!"

Soren let out a soft, exasperated groan, finding it difficult to ignore his companions. The soldiers accompanying him had proved themselves particularly proficient at belaboring the obvious, not to mention easily panicked. He had found himself a comfortable vantage point at the edge of the market square, atop the staircase leading to the second floor of an abandoned restaurant, and could mark the dire eidolon's progress clearly. The eidolon seemed to be in no hurry to move eastward, and was content ravaging the nearby, empty buildings as his undead minions advanced. He thought to call out to the soldiers, pleading with them to focus on their immediate foes, but knew it was a lost cause.

"Keep your weapons ready!" someone called in a high-pitched squeak.

Soren closed his eyes, resting his right hand across his forehead and pressing his thumb against his temple, as if hoping the gesture would bring some relief. He recognized the voice of the captain who had commandeered the fortified market square, and wasn't too surprised to learn that the fool was even more prone to meaningless remarks than his soldiers. Given that there had been no breaks in the fighting, the only soldiers without weapons were those whose weapons had been damaged beyond use.

The thundering of hooves clapping against the cobblestone roads preceded another pack of revenant horsemen. Soren had long-since dismissed the Daein cavalry, recognizing that mounted fighters would be ineffective in the confined city streets. The revenant riders were in similar straits, and were overwhelmed by a massive barrage of arrows as soon as they stepped into the market square.

Two of the flying Laguz revenants dove into the square, hoping to capitalize upon the distraction. Soren remained perfectly alert, despite his annoyance, and devastating magical gusts met the two revenants, striking them down long before they could get anywhere close to the defending archers.

Seemingly oblivious to the fact that the two revenants had already been suitably dealt with, the archers below panicked, and streams of arrows rose upward to meet the revenants' crumbling remains.

"Hopeless," Soren muttered, shaking his head as he overheard the archers frantically trying to retrieve and redistribute their arrows. Thankfully, their missed shots had fallen clear of their allies, but their lack of prowess was disquieting.

The loud flapping of heavy wings turned him around in time to see Morgan and Cordelia approaching.

"What was that?" Morgan asked as she carefully guided her Pegasus into hovering just beside the rail.

"I said, this battle seems hopeless," he said, speaking only just loud enough for Morgan to hear him. "I was hoping we could slow Extinction long enough for the soldiers to reassume their formations at the castle, but the revenants alone will overrun this position sooner or later. Chaos breaks loose every time a revenant draws near, and we're expending at least twenty arrows for each of them."

"Don't be so hard on them," Morgan chided. "Their country has been at peace for generations. I bet none of them have seen much real fighting before."

"That's a comforting thought," Soren said dryly.

"Look out!"

A loud crash interrupted them, and both tacticians turned toward the western alleyway in time to see soldiers fleeing every which way. A split second later, a massive pile of wooden and stone debris tumbled down the alleyway, splintering the shoddy barrier of overturned wagon carts and spare lumber.

"Morgan, were you watching our enemy when the empowered ballista bolt connected earlier?" Soren asked.

"Yeah," Morgan replied. "It punched straight through the eidolon's left hind leg. He dislodged the bolt when he was thrashing around and crushing the walls, but you can still see the wound if you look closely." Her expression grew worried. "He destroyed all four of the ballistae on the outer walls, though."

"We have two more of the ballistae waiting atop the castle ramparts," Soren reminded. "As risky as it seems, we may have to rely on them. Neither the normal ballistae nor your magic seemed to faze the eidolon at all."

"You saw that?" Morgan asked sheepishly.

"It was a good try," Soren conceded. "You should head on back to the castle make sure everyone is in position. We're going to have to hold the castle walls and protect our two remaining ballistae. I'll slow the beast here and buy you as much time as I can."

"No way," Morgan disagreed. "You and the other soldiers can't hope to outrun him on foot, or even on horseback. You should lead the others back to the castle. The rest of the Pegasi knights can stay with you and keep you covered from the flying revenants. Mom and I can go back and distract the eidolon."

"Your Pegasi can't outrun the eidolon, either," Soren reminded.

"We don't have to outrun him," Cordelia said, drifting closer and joining their conversation. "We can fly up and out of his reach whenever he catches up."

"That's right. Between the two of us, we can just lead him in circles for a while," Morgan said.

"There are too many flying revenants for that," Soren warned.

"We can hold them off," Cordelia assured.

Not wanting to belabor the point any further, Morgan grasped her Pegasus's reins. "Just go, Soren," she insisted, before urging Catria skyward. Cordelia followed almost immediately, and the two stopped only momentarily to converse with the other Pegasus knights that had been accompanying them.

The other Pegasi swooped protectively over the market square, preparing to escort the remaining soldiers to safety. The two red-haired riders pulled away, making a beeline for the dire eidolon instead.

With a helpless sigh, Soren descended the wooden steps and began searching for the captain who had assumed control. If he had to be honest, Morgan's plan was as close to flawless as anything he could devise, given the circumstances, but it still sat poorly with him. "Young and reckless," Soren muttered irritably, shaking his head.

* * *

Contrary to Soren's doubts, once she and her mother were alone, Morgan dropped the confident façade as they apprehensively approached the eidolon. "Too many," Morgan decided, counting nearly twenty Laguz revenants gliding about above their master. She easily recognized the two with smaller, bat-like silhouettes, but she could not discern whether the remainder were hawks or ravens. "I guess it doesn't really make a difference," she said quietly to herself.

"What was that?" Cordelia asked.

"Nothing," Morgan said quickly. "This doesn't look good. There's too many of them, and the eidolon can replace them faster than we can destroy them."

"Well, we don't have to destroy them all," Cordelia reminded. "We just need to keep from being overwhelmed, and hold the beast's attention for a short while."

"We'll still need to clear out this pack of revenants," Morgan said absently, as she studied the streets below. An idea began to solidify as she spotted an abnormally tall, three-story inn. "Mom, do you think you can outmaneuver the revenants while flying along the streets?

"I'm not sure," Cordelia said hesitantly. "They're more agile than Pegasi, and nearly as fast. Maybe along one of the wider, main roads..."

"What about that road, down there?" Morgan asked, gesturing towards the road winding past the inn. "Just for a short while. Thirty seconds, maybe?" she pleaded.

Cordelia scanned the road and the inn. A smile spread across her lips as she understood her daughter's plan. "I can do that," she said confidently. "See you there."

Morgan watched with bated breath as her mother sped away, closing in on the unsuspecting revenants. With practiced ease, Cordelia darted into their midst, hurling two javelins and eliminating the two bat Laguz revenants immediately. Then, as the rest of the revenants spread their wings in pursuit, she urged her Pegasus into a steep dive, pulling up barely a few feet above the cobblestone road.

As soon as Cordelia's javelins connected, Morgan glided to the inn, settling Catria upon the roof of a much shorter building across the street, concealed from the approaching revenants by the taller building. Once she was in position, she began studying the building itself, searching for her target.

Cordelia wrapped around the building, banking hard and only narrowly making the turn. The revenants tailing her followed agilely, making the same turn with ease and closing much of the distance between them and their prey. The veteran Pegasus knight paid them no heed, and instead urged her Pegasus forward.

Fireballs slammed into the building in her wake. The revenants swerved and dived to avoid the fiery barrage, but the spells had never been intended for them. Instead, the small explosions pierced the flimsy wooden wall and shattered the building's most critical supporting columns. The flames spread quickly, licking at the revenants beneath the overhang as their unearthly stares turned to their newest assailant.

But before any of them could move in Morgan's direction, or continue their pursuit, the building the let out a loud groan of protest. The upper floors collapsed at a lopsided angle, burying and crushing the majority of the revenants. Amidst the confusion, Cordelia flipped around neatly and rejoined the fray, as did Morgan. Javelins and fire magic pelted the last few revenants, obliterating them in short order.

Mere seconds later, both of the Pegasi were gliding towards Extinction once more.

The eidolon roared again as he saw them approach. Pools of darkness emerged around him, answering his summon, but Morgan's answer came in the form of sheets of fire, spreading from her fingertips and blanketing the pools. "Let's see who runs out of magic first!" she boasted.

In actuality, her tome was already wearing thin. Even if she had been carrying a spare, her solution would have been temporary, at best. Hoping the beast would not see through her bluff, she aimed her next spell for the eidolon, hoping to provoke it further. Cordelia followed suit, sending a javelin straight at one of the beast's eyes.

Spell and javelin alike bounced off harmlessly, but Extinction rose to the bait. With a vicious snarl, the beast leapt through the air, finding only air between his vicious claws as he narrowly missed Morgan, who had swerved aside at the last second. Unable to stop, the massive eidolon crashed into an abandoned general store. He pulled himself from the rubble with a discontented growl, shaking off bits of debris.

"Too slow!" Morgan sang, sending a blast of fire soaring past her giant foe. It slammed into the road behind the demolished store, veiling another dark pool as it formed. Silently hoping that their minor victory would be enough, Morgan set off towards the south. She smiled as she heard another Pegasus's wings beating above her and nearby, and the continuous crashing noises as the eidolon pursued them, veering away from the castle in the east.

* * *

The beleaguered soldiers found no relief as they streamed through Castle Daein's fortified gates. A man in decorated armor of shimmering, crimson-trimmed black plates was waiting for them, and accosted them as soon as they entered.

"You there!" he called. "Get yourselves to the northern watchtower!"

"Y-Yes, sir!" one of the soldiers stammered hastily, recognizing the general of Daein's army.

"Wait," Soren interrupted as he followed the soldiers through the gate. "These men expended most of their arrows slowing the enemy's pursuit. "They won't be of much use in their current state."

At his words, the general looked at the archers' quivers, his frown deepening when he realized that all but one had been completely depleted. "Get yourselves to the castle armory then, and see if they've got any arrows left," he ordered gruffly. "And you," he added, rounding on Soren. "You're one of the tacticians from Begnion, aren't you? The prince asked to speak with you. He's waiting with the queen, at the center of the ramparts."

Soren only nodded briefly before leaving and making his way towards the stone steps leading up to the ramparts. As he made his way through the throng of soldiers, he found himself dwelling upon the general's words. "From Begnion," Soren muttered under his breath. Of course, the general hadn't meant anything by the off-hand remark. He couldn't have known that Soren had actually been born here in Daein, not when Soren himself did not know until a few short weeks ago. He didn't really feel any kinship with the people of Daein, anyways.

Soren didn't particularly care where people thought he was from. Begnion was fine. Daein or Ylisse would have been equally fine, or even Goldoa. It didn't really matter, did it? "What am I even doing here?" he wondered quietly.

He found his answer at the top of the steps, where he caught sight of a pair of Pegasi in the distance, flying toward the castle. Several Laguz revenants followed in their wake, but could not catch up to their prey in the open skies.

There was something nostalgic about it all, Soren mused. Even centuries later, his life still seemed to follow the same course. Even as a child, he had stood in the shadows of another, following someone who shined with idealism, righteousness, and determination. And yes, someone young and reckless.

Reckless.

"The flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long," Soren recited grimly. It didn't always come true; Ike had lived to a ripe old age, after all, but he had been an anomaly. The danger was very real, as evidenced by the sheer destruction the eidolon had already visited upon the city.

"Soren!"

Roused from his introspection, Soren turned to see Lionel approaching.

"Lionel," Soren greeted. "You asked to speak with me?"

"You two are crazy," Lionel declared. "Morgan's done more damage to the city than Extinction has."

"Firstly, you give me too much credit. This foolishly dangerous escapade was entirely Morgan's idea," Soren said. "Secondly, keeping the eidolon at bay for a few minutes longer is worth the price of a few buildings, if you ask me."

"Perhaps, but the risk…" Lionel said worriedly, betraying his true fears as his gaze drifted back to the distant Pegasi. Below them, the enraged beast scrambled back and forth, as if it were a small dog chasing a butterfly.

"Well, no, it wasn't exactly _safe_ ," Soren said dryly. "If we were hoping for that, we would've left for home weeks ago. We're running out of options. Our only alternatives were to allow Extinction to reach us before we were ready, or to sacrifice a good number of our men delaying it. The revenant army has been diminished, but we can't know for certain the extent to which we've weakened the eidolon. We have nowhere to run if we cannot win here."

"I know," Lionel said. "I received your message earlier. We've moved most of the soldiers away from the two magical ballistae. None of our archers remain near the lecterns, save for the priests manning them."

"Good," Soren said. "That may keep Extinction's attention away from them until they're fired at least once."

"And what if that isn't enough to bring the eidolon down?" Lionel asked, a nervous edge creeping into his voice.

"Then we throw everything we have left at the eidolon and hope it's enough," Soren said helplessly. "The only escape route open to us is warp powder, and we don't have nearly enough to save everyone left in the city."

"Fire!"

The abrupt order brought an end to their conversation. Lionel and Soren both watched as the two approaching Pegasi suddenly changed course, soaring upward and clearing the way for the Daein archers. Hundreds of arrows flew outward, bringing down the pursuing revenants in short order.

More revenants rose up into the sky, only to be shot down immediately as the archers continued to shoot at every revenant that came within range. A few of the revenant horsemen looped around the makeshift blockade along the main road leading to the palace, and were promptly destroyed as well.

The barrage only stopped when Extinction himself slammed into the blockade, sending splinters of wood in every direction. His fleshless face looked up, leering at the castle's defenders as he strutted forward, revenants following in his wake and swarming all around him.

"Perfect," Soren observed with grim satisfaction, pleased that their enemy was simply marching into the limited range of their magical ballistae.

* * *

Morgan and Cordelia continued to drift overhead, apart from the rest of the Pegasus hovering just within Castle Daein's walls. They watched as below them, Extinction finally lost interest in them. Both of the Pegasus riders flinched as Extinction threw himself headlong into the shoddily constructed wooden blockade, shattering it easily.

Then the mighty beast stepped through the rubble with a distinctive swagger, as if daring the castle's defenders to act.

"What now, Morgan?" Cordelia asked calmly, seeming unshaken by the dangerous chase they had just endured.

"Now we hope the ballistae can bring it down," Morgan replied. She tried to hide her relief when she saw that their mission had been successful, and that the soldiers along and within the castle wall were standing in organized formations once more.

As if in answer to her hopes, there were two sudden flashes of light at opposite ends of the wall. Both priests stationed at the lecterns invoked their tomes, feeding their strongest light magic into the ballistae and infusing the heavy bolts. The bolts streaked forward, one slamming into the beast's back, and another into one of the creature's front legs.

The beast howled, a terrible sound so loud that it seemed to shake the world itself. For one brief second, even as she clasped her hands to her ears to blot out the horrifying noise, Morgan thought they had been successful.

Then the eidolon began trembling, as if in agony, and suddenly, his white hair flared with crimson energy, straightening at odd angles and forming a bizarre pattern of spikes similar to shark teeth along its back. A few archers released their drawn arrows, and a few mages joined the fray, sending flaming missiles, bolts of lightning, and gusts of wind towards the beast.

Extinction ignored it all and leapt upward, pivoting into a spin as he did. His tail slammed into the steel bars across the gateway, tearing them asunder and shattering fragments of the wall as he did. Bolts of red lightning surged outward erratically, striking down a number of the offending archers.

The remaining revenants joined the fray, the cavalry charging for the new opening as the fliers dove recklessly toward the ramparts. The ballistae fired again. One bolt missed its mark, but the other plunged deep into the menace's side, another seemingly terrible wound that the beast simply ignored.

With a mighty leap, Extinction scaled the wall with seeming ease, landing atop the ramparts. For a horrible second, it seemed as the wall would simply crumble beneath the monster's weight, but while the wall sunk and trembled, it held… for now.

Red spheres of lightning spiraled upward in Extinction's wake, before shooting off in opposite directions. Along the northern wall, an archer saw the incoming sphere and selflessly threw himself before the ballistae, scooping up a fallen shield and bracing himself behind it. The red lightning shredded through the noble soldier's shield, ripping the shield apart and killing him instantly as it cut through and struck the ballista. The siege engine shattered upon impact, and the lectern toppled from it as well.

The southbound sphere was less accurate, striking the walkway and shattering it. The priest fired one last shot, but with the wall falling and tilting beneath him, his attack fell clear of its mark by nearly thirty feet, plunging harmlessly into an abandoned building just beyond the castle walls before the priest plummeted to his death.

Morgan winced as she witnessed the gruesome aftermath of Extinction's attack. "The queen and prince are there!" she realized in horror, as she spotted Micaiah, Lionel, and Soren standing amidst a group of soldiers, confronting the behemoth.

Without another word, she urged Catria into a dive and drew the partially depleted Thani tome that Iris had returned to her after their battle in the northern mountains.

Not one, but two conjured spheres of light fell upon the dire eidolon at the same exact moment, exploding outward with a whistling noise. Blinded, Morgan was forced to veer away, though she thought she heard the rushing noise of a powerful wind spell in her wake.

She turned to face the eidolon again as the light faded. A few of Cordelia's javelins remained lodged in the monster's back, and several arrows protruded from the orifices of his skeletal visage. Parts of his formerly lustrous white mane had crumbled away, and there were gaping holes where the ballistae had struck it.

Yet he was still standing.

"It's not enough," Morgan whispered. While the soldiers surged towards the center of the wall, disregarding the unstable footing as they sought to protect their beloved queen, Morgan's gaze drifted away. She did her best to ignore the commotion as she sought another answer. Finally, her eyes settled upon the devastated southern wall.

* * *

"Hold your positions!" Lionel cried as Extinction's claw reached atop the wall, grasping and crushing a segment of the parapets between his heavy, ebon talons.

Despite the orders to the contrary, many of Daein's soldiers instinctively scattered upon seeing their mighty foe so near. A few archers shot at the talon, as did Lionel, hoping to dislodge the monster. Seeing the prince's intent, Soren sent a quick gust forward, but that, too, proved ineffective. The eidolon's grip was too strong and too tight.

Queen Micaiah herself joined the fray then, invoking her tome and dropping a sphere of light upon the dire eidolon. Her spell proved the most effective. The ground itself cracked, and that fragment of the wall began slipping free of the rest, but Extinction was too quick, pulling himself up effortlessly.

As thick as Castle Daein's walls were, they were nowhere near thick enough for the walkway to bear Extinction's full fifty-foot length. Over half of the beast's frame was draped over the wall, and everyone standing before it, even Micaiah, Lionel, and Soren, backed away a few steps only to find that they were already out of space.

"What are you thinking, Soren?" Micaiah asked quietly, realizing that any hope of restoring order was lost, and noticing the thoughtful expression on Soren's face.

"I'm questioning my life's decisions that have brought me here," Soren said wryly.

"I was hoping for something a little more helpful," Lionel commented uneasily, nocking another arrow halfheartedly.

Extinction let out a low snarl, as if he were mocking their feeble efforts.

"I suppose we should make sure Morgan's father knows his ballistae aren't half as effective as we'd hoped. Other than that, I'm out of ideas," Soren admitted. Without any other recourse, he began readying another wind spell. "Throw everything you have at it and run," Soren suggested.

Micaiah readied her own spell, and the beast crouched, leering at them as if he were daring them to strike.

"Now!" Micaiah cried.

Dozens of arrows shot in from every direction as the remaining archers along the wall fired. Javelins soared over their heads as the Holy Guard struck. Micaiah and Soren unleashed their spells, and just before the light blinded them all, she and Soren spotted two more Pegasi closing in from beyond the wall.

It took several seconds for the magical light to clear. When it did clear at last, Extinction remained standing, to their horror. Golden flames continued to burn in its empty sockets, brighter than ever before and contrasting with the pulsating red lightning that still flickered along the monster's demented form.

"So much for running," Soren sighed, when he saw that those closest to him showed no signs of surrender. A handful of the common soldiers and archers had fled, but the rest continued to close in, unwilling to abandon their queen and prince. The Holy Guard was now circling the beast overhead, with more javelins held ready. Cordelia had joined them, too, though there was no sign of Morgan.

"If you want to leave, now's the time," Micaiah offered serenely, readying another spell.

Soren gave the offer serious consideration, as he scanned the wall, sizing up what strength his allies had left. As he did, he spotted another Pegasus in the distance, diving towards the wreckage along the southern wall.

"There'll still be time for that later," Soren replied, reading his tome again. He wasn't sure what Morgan was scheming this time, but clearly she hadn't given up quite yet.

Waves of magic and arrows shot out, striking Extinction from every direction. Dozens of soldiers poured in, stabbing or slashing at whatever part of the monster they could reach. Extinction seemed to shrug their attacks off with ease, though, and thrashed wildly, lashing out in every direction and smashing the soldiers aside, one after another, as if they were nothing more than ragdolls. Neither Soren nor Micaiah seemed capable of inflicting any real damage upon the creature either, despite the repeated barrage of powerful spells.

Then there was an enormous flash of light, dwarfing the combined light spells from before. Extinction howled in agony as it reared up. Sensing the beast's movement, Soren struck again, his next spell tipping the eidolon off the wall.

Soren raced to the edge of the wall, standing over the ruined parapet as he looked down upon the wounded behemoth. A large ballista bolt, still shimmering with light magic, had been buried in the eidolon's side.

Soren instinctively looked to the south, to find Morgan standing at an awkward angle beside the fallen, yet intact, lectern-enhanced ballista. He averted his gaze only just in time as Morgan fired again, plunging a second heavy bolt into Extinction's side and eliciting another agonized howl.

When he dared to open his eyes at last, he found his attention immediately drawn to a dark shape just above Morgan.

"Look out!" Soren cried, watching in horror as the bird-like object swooped down upon the younger tactician unnoticed.

A Pegasus broke apart from the rest of the Holy Guard as Cordelia, also seeing the danger, hastened south, hoping to reach her daughter's side.

But Morgan was too far away to hear his warning, and too far away for her mother to reach her in time.

* * *

"Yes!" Morgan cheered delightedly, as her first bolt hit its mark. She nearly punched the air in triumph as the eidolon reared up precariously, and something forced it from the wall to crash into the hard ground below. Instead, she resisted the temptation, and quickly loaded the second of the two bolts she had salvaged. Knowing she didn't have long, she quickly adjusted her aim downward and fired again, channeling her light tome's magic into the lectern as she did. There was a second explosion of light in the distance just as Extinction began to rise again.

Hoping that it would be enough to buy her some time, Morgan extracted herself from the awkwardly situated ballista and scanned the rubble around her, searching for another ballista bolt.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a dark flicker. She whirled about instinctively without taking the time to change tomes, and struck her approaching foe with a powerful burst of light.

At the same exact moment, something slammed into her chest forcefully, taking her breath away. She felt a sharp sting and staggered backward, stumbling and falling into a seated position. Dazed, she looked down.

A bolt adorned with an elegant brown feather quivered before her. Its tip had sliced through her magical robe before embedding itself in her chest.

Confused, Morgan looked to her fallen foe, but the world seemed to swim before her eyes. Her assailant forced himself to his feet. She vaguely recognized his silhouette as that of a tall, bulky man, but she could not make out the features of the man's face, nor did she recognize the blurry shapes protruding from the man's back.

"This is the price you pay, _Tactician_ ," the man rasped weakly, his voice dripping with venom. "You meddled in the affairs of a kingdom that was not yours. You shattered our dreams of a brighter tomorrow. You sided with the weak and usurped the strong, not through rightful power, but through devilish trickery!" he ranted wildly, growing more intense despite his failing voice.

"Who… who are…" Morgan slurred helplessly. Despite her best efforts, she could not find the breath to finish her words, and even her thoughts became a discombobulated mess.

"You're weak, _human_ , just like the rest of your pitiful kind," her attacker spat derisively. "Nature abhors the weak. If only you were stronger, that you might suffer as I have suffered. Die then, you pathetic fool. Die with the knowledge that my people _will_ recover from the injustices you and your friends have wrought upon us!"

Morgan watched as the man bent down, reclaiming his crossbow, which he then leveled at her. She closed her eyes and collapsed backward, lying down as she felt her strength leaving her. She heard a distant sound. Then there was a muffled thump, but she did not feel the expected sting of the second bolt.

A voice was shouting her name, and Morgan thought she recognized the voice, though the sound seemed to have come from far away.

"Mom?" the dying tactician whispered weakly.

"Morgan, no!"

Cordelia's voice seemed so much closer that time, and yet, still so far away.

And then any sound died away altogether, and the world itself seemed to fade away.

* * *

As he stood triumphant over the mastermind who had allegedly orchestrated his defeat, Lister stared at his crossbow in disgust. "A coward's weapon," he spat distastefully. Still, he could not deny the weapon's usefulness. If it wasn't for the crossbow the Redeemers had lent him, the trickster tactician's spell would have taken him down long before he was close enough to strike.

And at least there was a bit of artistic symmetry in the weapon, Lister thought. The Redeemers had shown him how to feather the bolts himself, and each of the six bolts he had prepared bore one of his own feathers. The crossbow remained Beorc weaponry, but at least there was a bit of his own strength guiding each of the deadly projectiles.

Perhaps six had been overkill. His first shot had been perfectly accurate, and had pierced the girl's heart cleanly. Still, the bitter hawk remained unsatisfied, and he lifted his crossbow again, loading a second bolt as he took aim once more.

He stiffened, as he felt something sharp jab into his shoulder from behind. Shocked, he looked down in disbelief, his gaze drawn to the bloodstained head of a javelin protruding from his forearm. Then he felt a forceful blow on the back of his head.

And then he felt nothing at all.

* * *

Fueled by desperation, Cordelia hurled her second javelin with such force that it impaled the hawk Laguz's skull completely, protruding from the front of his forehead. She then leapt from her Pegasus's back without slowing, stumbling slightly in her haste to reach her daughter's side. "Morgan!" she cried, her tone brittle with terror.

She knelt down by her daughter, lifting the girl up slightly and shaking her. "Morgan, no! Morgan!" she pleaded, begging her daughter to answer, to say something, to make any noise at all.

Morgan twitched slightly, and though her eyes remained closed, her confused expression relaxed. The girl even seemed to be smiling slightly.

Smiling, but no longer breathing, Cordelia realized in horror. A lump welled up in her throat, silencing her. She turned the girl over, cradling her daughter in her lap as she firmly grasped the bolt and tugged it free. She moved to staunch the wound immediately, but no blood flowed from the wound.

For several seconds, she stared at the wound, frozen. She wanted to cry out in denial, to release some of the pain welling up within her, but could not find the strength even for that. Instead, she slumped over, defeated, and could only pull her daughter's limp form into an awkward, tight hug.

* * *

The magical winds cleared away some of the rubble, and slowed their master's descent before dying away. Soren landed evenly on both feet amidst the rubble, only a few paces away from the two Pegasi. His expression remained perfectly blank, refusing to betray his emotions, as he stared absently at the broken Pegasus knight, cradling her daughter.

Too late again.

Just as he had been too late to save Priam, the last of his bloodline.

Just as he had been too late to save Nestor, too late to keep his future from fading away.

He could hear a loud rumble in the distance, and the panicked cries of Daein's soldiers. He could hear the clash of steel as the Daein soldiers fought on against the remaining revenants. He could hear Cordelia's shaking sobs and rough breathing.

He could hear many things, but his he closed his mind to the outside world, as he idly leaned against one of the nearby Pegasus. More than anything, he wanted to be away from it all. Even as he acknowledged that wish, the world seemed to fall away, growing darker and darker until he could see, hear, and feel nothing at all.


	17. Chapter 12

**~ Chapter 12 ~**

The darkness receded, and the world slowly came into focus once more. No sun, nor moon, nor stars remained to cast their light upon the world. They weren't lurking behind clouds; the sky had simply gone dark, becoming a stretch of lightless black fabric.

At first, Soren didn't even notice the drastic change. When he finally did, an uncomfortable chill ran down his spine. He eyed his surroundings listlessly, trying to shake an inexplicable sense of familiarity. He had never seen a place quite like it before, and yet, somehow, he felt as if he was right where he was meant to be. That distant sensation unnerved him more than the unusual scene laid out before him; how long had it been since he had truly felt as if he was where he belonged?

Despite the dearth of light, Soren found that he could still see with perfect clarity. But there was no sign of Morgan or her mother, or of their Pegasi. There was no trace of the collapsed wall or any of the rubble, either. All that was left was thick banks of snow, glistening white and shining in the darkness, stretching outward in every direction to form a perfect circle. Beyond the snow-blanketed coast, the waters were perfectly black, and remained impossibly still.

Snow continued to fall silently across the island, and the icy breeze tugged noiselessly at the old mage's robes, but he did not feel the expected chill. It was as if he could not feel anything at all. He had wished for exactly that many times throughout his long life, but instead of bringing him his long-sought relief, it left him only with a feeling of gnawing disquiet. "Has the world itself finally perished?" Soren whispered.

When no answer came, he slumped down to his knees and sank into the soft, powdery snow. As he knelt there, he wondered if anything he did now would matter, and if anything he had ever done had ever mattered. There was nothing but emptiness now, after all.

Or perhaps emptiness was all there was to begin with.

That thought weighed heavily upon Soren, and eventually, he could bear the stifling, suffocating feeling no longer. He looked up, searching frantically for any sign that he wasn't alone. "Morgan!" Soren cried out, praying that somehow, the girl could hear him.

Even as he spoke her name aloud, the painful image of the younger tactician's body cradled in her mother's arms flitted through his mind.

Soren shivered again. Though he still could not feel the freezing temperature of the air around him, a chilling sensation had sprouted somewhere deep inside of him, spreading through him and gripping him tightly.

Once again, he had been left behind. Even the world had left him behind.

Once again, he was alone.

He turned slowly, and his gaze swept the frozen wasteland. He didn't know what he was searching for, only that he could not stand the unnatural emptiness any longer. His eyes settled upon the distant shore, where a faint shadow flickered rhythmically, as if it was dancing in the icy wind.

Soren stared at the shadow, mesmerized, and without a second thought, he began moving towards it. He trudged his way through the thick snow, and though the snow clung to his every step, he felt neither exhaustion nor the biting chill of the ice seeping into his boots.

When he reached the mysterious shadow, it seemed to come into focus, becoming something more substantial. Something solid.

A person.

A young man wearing a crimson cloak, and a simple headband to keep his messily cropped blue hair out of his eyes. A man with a familiar stern, yet kind expression, with a face that Soren had not seen in centuries, but could never forget.

"Ike…" Soren whispered.

Ike only smiled at him peacefully.

"Say something. Please…" Soren pleaded. But no answer was forthcoming, and the strange, chilling sensation from before had become one of blistering heat, growing hotter and more painful with each passing second. Finally, Soren could not help but turn away.

As he did, his eyes met another shadow he had not noticed before. It, too, began to take shape, and before long, Soren was left staring into the eyes of another apparition. Another man, who, despite his slender frame, bore a distinct resemblance to Ike. A man clad in a golden cloak, with a brand on his forehead in the likeness of flickering, sapphire flames.

Nestor.

Tears welled up in Soren's eyes as he met his grandson's gaze. But like Ike, Nestor only smiled comfortingly and said nothing.

Unable to bear the sight any longer, Soren turned and ran. He refused to look back as he marched through the snow, running from the shadows haunting him, searching for any escape from the madness before it could consume him.

Fleeing until shadows coalesced before him. Soren watched in horror, unable to tear his gaze away, as the shadows twisted to form a final specter, the form of a young, blue-haired woman with glistening, inquisitive eyes and a perpetual smile.

At the sight of his long-dead wife, the blistering pain became overwhelming, and Soren collapsed to his knees, weeping openly as centuries of grief and bitterness washed over him. "No. This isn't real. You aren't real. You're gone… all gone… gone…" he murmured helplessly. Warm tears streaked down his face, burning hotter and hotter despite the cold surrounding him. He shut his eyes tightly, begging for some respite from the unbearable warmth.

After what felt like an eternity, the pain subsided at last. There was no true escape to be found, and the unnatural chill from before had returned. Soren forced himself to his feet, and though Ike, Nestor, and Eirene were there, waiting for him, he ignored them, studiously looking away from them, and towards the coastline.

The cold, hollow feeling redoubled when he saw a small speck of red amidst the sea of black.

"Morgan!" Soren cried out. He sprinted towards the edge of the island, pushing his way past the mysterious specters.

The younger tactician appeared to be unconscious. Lying on her back, she floated peacefully on the surface of the impossibly-still waters, nearly fifty feet away from shore. Without hesitation, Soren waded into the water, leaving ripples that faded unnaturally quickly.

"Soren, wait!"

Soren whirled around upon hearing the unfamiliar, feminine voice, the first voice he had heard upon the island beside his own. There was a woman standing behind him. She was tall, towering over him easily. Her face shone with unnatural beauty, and was framed by her elegant red hair, so bright that it was nearly orange. Though Soren did not recognize the woman, he felt an unexplainable sense of familiarity upon seeing her.

"You cannot help her. Not like that," the mysterious woman explained softly.

That remark brought Soren's attention back to his current predicament. With a defiant growl, he turned away from the woman and threw himself deeper into the dark water, swimming to Morgan's side. Vaguely, he noticed that he could not feel the water he was swimming through, but he put that observation out of mind as he slid smoothly across the water's surface.

When he reached Morgan's side, he firmly grasped the girl's wrist tightly before turning back. A strange, comforting warmth took hold of him as he tried to swim back to shore.

But no matter how far or how hard he swam, the shore seemed just as far as it had when he had first reached Morgan's side. Realizing that something was wrong, Soren experimentally released his grip upon Morgan and swam a small circle around her.

"Something's keeping you here," Soren whispered. "But what?"

He treaded water silently as he pondered his predicament carefully, hoping to find some order and reason in a world where nothing made sense any longer. But the moment he took his attention off of Morgan, she began drifting away once more.

"Wait, don't go!" Soren cried, seizing her wrist once more. "Morgan! Morgan, wake up!" he urged.

"Listen to me, Soren. You cannot help her like this."

The voice was startling close, and Soren turned to find the mysterious woman from before right beside him, not treading water, as he was, but standing atop the water's surface. "What?" Soren gasped.

"Come with me, before it's too late," the woman instructed calmly. "Take my hand."

Soren gaped at her for a moment longer, before shaking away his surprise and confusion. "Forget about me," he said angrily. He gestured towards Morgan. "Help me get her to shore."

"I cannot," the mysterious woman answered, shaking her head somberly.

"Why not?" Soren demanded.

The woman smiled sadly at him. "This isn't my place, Soren. I have no power here."

"No power?" Soren echoed, not quite understanding. "Who are you? And where are we?"

"You know this place," she replied evenly. "Maybe you haven't seen it before this way, and maybe it's changed a lot, over the centuries. Still, ever has it been your home, and your home it will remain, until the end of your days."

Soren stared at her blankly.

"This is your sanctuary," she explained, though the words meant very little. "There is no escape, no matter how much you may long for one. Trying to tear yourself away will only scar you deeper. Come with me, Soren, before it's too late."

Soren didn't understand, nor did he really care. "I don't need a sanctuary," he informed her flatly.

"And yet you've built yourself one anyways," the woman replied serenely.

Soren shook his head, frustrated. "I don't have time for riddles," he said, before turning back to Morgan. The young tactician was still floating their peacefully, as if she were asleep. Try as he might, though, Soren could not find an answer. "Why can't I help her?" he asked himself, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Because you don't want her here. You're pushing her away," the mysterious woman replied, her voice lined with sympathy. "She's gone, just like Ike, Nestor, and Eirene. She's not really here, nor are any they, and nor are any of the others you've pushed to the fringe." As she spoke, she waved gracefully in the direction opposite of the island.

Soren's instinctively followed her gesture, and he looked to the distant horizon, seeing for the first time that more shadows remained there, bobbing and weaving and seeming impossibly far.

"It's not your fault," the woman reassured him kindly. "You were afraid, Soren. Your scars ran too deep, and her light burned too brightly. You tried to hide, to keep her from thawing your frozen shell. You're still trying to hide, even now."

"To hide…" Soren said hoarsely. A comforting warmth took hold of him once more. Unable to resist, he basked in it for some time.

But the warmth grew hotter and hotter, and became the cruel, burning sensation he had felt upon looking at the ghosts of his past. He cried out in agony and shut his eyes tightly, refusing to look at either the mysterious woman or Morgan, but this time, there was nowhere to hide.

"You weren't as successful as you thought," the woman continued. Her voice remained kind, but cut deeply nonetheless. "You thought you had found serenity in the chill of isolation, but deep down, you craved the warmth, didn't you?"

"Shut up!" Soren roared.

The woman obediently fell silent, staring sympathetically at Soren as her own eyes glistened with tears.

Unable to stand the pain any longer, Soren released Morgan yet again. The waters remained perfectly still, but somehow, the girl began drifting away, and as the distance between them grew, the pain lessened somewhat.

When Soren found the strength to speak evenly once more, he rounded upon the mysterious woman. "What are you doing here?" he demanded harshly, hiding from his sense of helplessness behind his anger.

"You invited me here," the woman replied simply. "You sought my help, but there's little I can do to mend what has been broken. I am not what I once was, Soren."

"Not what you once were?" Soren asked, baffled. Before the woman could explain, he shook his head angrily. "Forget it! _Why_ are you here, if there's nothing you, or anyone else, can do?" He seemed to deflate then, as if he had realized it was senseless to argue with the mysterious woman. "Why am _I_ here?" he whispered.

"Because there is still hope for _you_ ," the woman answered. "A long time ago, you learned to accept loss. You carried on with your life when the Radiant Hero departed this world. When Eirene, too, passed away, you clung to the brightest memories of the times you two shared. Though the thought of those who went before you still stung, you kept them close to your heart regardless, and this place was a kinder and warmer one. It wasn't until…"

"Until I lost Nestor," Soren said. All emotion seemed to leave his face then. "When I thought I had found the answer, only to have it stolen away. Only then did I realize that I had been deceiving myself," he said dispassionately.

"Were you really?" the woman asked. "Do you truly consider those years on the road a waste, simply because Nestor could not remain at your side forever? Do you regret the years you spent with Eirene, or the adventures you shared with Ike?"

"They're gone," Soren replied shortly. He turned away from her once more, watching as Morgan continued to drift away,

"Do you want to cast her aside, too? To push away your memories of her, and hide them in the deepest recesses of your mind? Look over there, Soren, past Morgan. Do you see them?" the women urged.

At her words, the shadows on the horizon began to take shape, too. At the forefront stood Priam, wearing a hauntingly familiar meditative expression. Behind him were countless others, the more memorable residents of Azure Pyre over the years, and those he and Nestor had met in their travels across Ylisse. Behind them were his old companions of Tellius, too, those who he and Ike had left behind centuries ago.

"You sent them away, Soren. You were afraid. Even now, you're pushing Morgan away, choosing to leave those warm memories behind in fear of the misery of loss. Is that truly what you want? Look behind you, Soren. Is this truly how you wish to spend the centuries that await you? Forever hiding in this emptiness?"

"What choice do I have?" Soren whispered, turning to the woman with a pleading look in his eyes. "I couldn't bring her back. I couldn't help her. I couldn't help any of them."

"You can," the woman insisted. "This is your domain. There is nothing you cannot do here, only that which you are afraid to do."

Afraid. Was he, really?

"I am not afraid," Soren said, though the words sounded empty even to himself.

"Aren't you?" the woman challenged. "Why else would you be pushing her away? You don't want her here. You don't want _any_ of them here. You know that one day you'll grow comfortable in the barren, frigid wastes. You will forget the warmth and the light. Let her go, Soren. Let them all go."

Soren pondered her words silently for some time. Then he shook his head. "I've been such a fool, for all these years. How long did I think I could hide?" he asked softly.

The pain began welling up within once more, but this time, he embraced it. He tried to swim forth once more, to reach Morgan and drag her back, but somehow, he found himself standing atop the water instead, like the mysterious woman. Without pausing to question it, he sprinted to Morgan's side and reached for her hand once more. As soon as he clasped his hand over hers, there was a great flash of light, and suddenly, he felt as if he was falling.

* * *

Soren found himself standing at the center of the island once more. Morgan was lying at his feet, with Ike, Nestor, and Eirene standing silently nearby.

"She's gone, you know."

Soren rolled his eyes, and didn't turn to look at the mysterious, beautiful woman. "I know, but I'm not pushing her away. That's what you were after, right? You're welcome to leave now," he said dismissively.

"Her death doesn't bother you?"

"Of course it bothers me. It hurts to lose someone you care about, more so than any physical pain I've ever endured," Soren said coolly. "But I can't really hide from it, can I?" He gestured towards the coastline and the black sea beyond. "Even if I can't see them right now, I know they're there, even after all these years."

"Would you save her, if you could?" the woman pressed.

"There's no use thinking about that," Soren replied. "She's gone. I might be gone, too, for that matter. This place doesn't feel like any dream I can remember, and yet, it can't be real."

"You're not dead," the mysterious woman assured him.

"How comforting," Soren said dryly.

"Isn't it?" the woman agreed. "Or does some part of you long for death?"

"Hardly," Soren scoffed.

"Even if you could have saved her?" the woman asked, gesturing towards Morgan.

"How could my death have helped her in any way?" Soren asked doubtfully.

The woman shrugged, ignoring his question. "If it were possible, would you have given up your own life to save hers? To push her out of the way and take the bolt in her stead, perhaps?"

"If I was close enough for that, I would have simply deflected the bolt," Soren pointed out evasively.

When the woman didn't respond, Soren stared into Morgan's peaceful expression. "You really are rather remarkable, aren't you?" he mused quietly. "There were many times where I could barely stand your childish antics. And yet, her I am, wishing things could have been different. You really are so much more than you seem. I can't help but wonder, if you had lived long enough to see your work through, how much brighter would the world be?"

"You could assume her burden in her stead," the mysterious woman suggested.

"It is too much for me," Soren admitted. "I'm old, even if I do not look it, and I'm grown weary." He looked up, staring absentmindedly into the darkness. "I think… I would have saved her, if I could. Even had it been at the cost of my own life."

"Do you think she would approve? She knows what you are, and knows that you have many centuries before you still," the woman reminded.

"True," Soren conceded. "But I wouldn't have stopped and asked her opinion on the matter, so her feelings are moot. As are mine, for that matter, given the circumstances."

The woman smiled and shook her head gracefully. "Your feelings matter more than you think, Soren." She began striding away, stepping lightly and gracefully atop the snow, which melted beneath her bare feet.

"Where are you going?" Soren demanded, despite his earlier feelings toward the annoying cryptic woman.

"Back to where I belong," the woman answered enigmatically, as she continued walking away. "I've done what I can, which, in my current state, really isn't much at all. But if you meant your words, the power I've lent you might just be enough. Save her if you will, Soren, and when she awakens, please, give her my thanks. I never dared to hope that such a willing and worthy champion would simply present herself to me like this."

"Champion?" Soren echoed, bewildered. "What are you talking about? Who _are_ you?"

"Your road is far from over, and remains fraught with danger," the woman warned, ignoring his questions. She turned to face him, a coy smile painted upon her face. "If it's any solace, I'll be with you both, though I don't know how much help I will be."

The woman began to glow, shining so brightly that Soren was forced to avert his eyes. Small fragments of light peeled away, appearing first as shimmering droplets of water, and then as soft, vibrant flower petals. Each petal carried the light further, shrouding the rest of the island in light, too, and Soren felt as if the world was drifting away from him again.

* * *

The sounds of a distant battle brought Soren to his senses. His eyes snapped open, but before he could turn towards the noise, the feel of polished wood in his hands, coursing with magical energy, stopped him. He gasped when he looked down and saw the staff he was holding, a shaft covered in gold leaves and topped with a diamond-encrusted idol.

It was an obvious depiction of the goddess, but for the first time, Soren noticed that the idol was not quite the same as the statues of Ashera that he remembered. The idol's face was less austere, and bore a warm smile.

The idol was an exact depiction of the mysterious and beautiful red-haired woman.

Understanding at last, Soren raised the staff and turned to Morgan, still lay limp and motionless in her mother's arms. He could feel the immense power brimming within the staff, and the staff seemed to vibrate as it answered his summons, infusing him with its divine power.

He stepped forward and knelt down at Cordelia's side, reaching out and taking Morgan's hand in his own. The magic in the staff gushed forth, and he felt a sense of euphoria as the powerful staff did its work.

And just like that, it was over. The staff's energy subsided, and it became nothing more than a polished, decorated wooden pole once more. Soren stared at it in disbelief, horrified by the thought that the staff's magic had betrayed him yet again.

"Ugh…" Morgan groaned softly.

"M-Morgan!?" Cordelia gasped, as Soren sighed in relief.

"Mom?" Morgan asked, sounding a bit faint, as if she had just taken a heavy blow over the head. "What… hey!" she protested, as her mother interrupted her, squeezing her so tightly that she could barely breath.

"You were ambushed," Soren explained curtly, as he subtly slipped the staff back into Morgan's saddlebags to rest beside her other staves. "Your mother took care of Lister easily enough, but apparently didn't think to look in your saddlebags for a healing staff."

"I thought she was…" Cordelia stammered, seemingly unable to complete the sentence aloud. She loosened her grip slightly, and Morgan pulled herself free and turned to look at her attacker's fallen form.

"So that's Lister, huh?" Morgan said, eyeing the dead Laguz thoughtfully.

A bloodcurdling, earsplitting howl rang out in the distance, so loud that the debris scattered around rattled noisily.

"Yes, and _that's_ the dire eidolon we've been fighting, reminding us that he's alive and well," Soren said with a sigh. "It was a good attempt, but I think it is past time for us to retreat. Are you strong enough to use the warp powder safely, Morgan?"

"Retreat?" Morgan asked, sounding displeased as she rose to her feet. Her chest ached as she did, and she looked down, her face screwing up in confusion when she found that Lister's bolt had left a small hole in her robe, directly over her heart.

"Yes, retreat," Soren repeated impatiently. "Unless you happen to have more ballista bolts lying around, we're out of options."

"But the others are still fighting," Morgan protested, gesturing towards the raging battle. She squinted slightly, studying the dire eidolon closely. "And look – we must have hurt him pretty badly. He looks like he's limping."

Cordelia's finally managed to pull her attention away from her daughter to spectate the distant battle as well. "You must have hit him pretty hard with those two shots," she agreed. "But we've done our part. There's barely any revenants left, and if Extinction is weak enough to be defeated with conventional weapons only, then I'm sure the others will be fine."

"They will be," Soren assured. "Micaiah is there, remember? Her mastery of light magic is far beyond yours, Morgan. If anyone can put a proper end to that monstrosity, it's her. Leave the eidolon to them. We should get ourselves to a safe distance and make sure your injuries are properly tended to, Morgan."

Morgan shook her head stubbornly. "I'm fine," she insisted. "And we owe it to the others to see this battle through."

"We don't owe them anything," Soren pointed out. But Morgan simply pushed past him, ignoring his protests, to climb astride her Pegasus.

"I'm fine," Morgan stubbornly insisted again. I won't leave them to fight Extinction alone." She turned and flashed them both an energetic grin. "Come on! Let's end this!"

* * *

"Everyone, stay back," Micaiah warned, as she and Lionel approached the fallen beast.

Her orders went seemingly unnoticed, and her loyal soldiers swarmed around her, unwilling to leave their beloved queen to approach the downed behemoth alone.

"Stay back!" she ordered again, raising her voice and adopting an imperious tone. This time, her soldiers faltered. A few obeyed at first, retreating a few steps, which prompted most of the others to follow suit.

"That goes for you too," Lionel said with a smirk, when Felicia continued to follow them.

"Tough. I don't take orders from you, Leo," Felicia said brightly, sticking her tongue out at him childishly.

"You've never been particularly good at taking orders from anyone," Lionel remarked lightly.

The beast gave a low, rumbling growl, and twitched. Even that slight movement seemed grossly intimidating, and most of the soldiers unconsciously retreated several steps further.

But the queen didn't seem alarmed, and simply raised her tome as she stepped close enough for her spell to reach it.

Sensing her approach, Extinction forced himself to his feet, lolling its head slowly from side to side. Its gaze shot upward as a small star of the purest light appeared above it.

Ribbons of light unfolded from the star, billowing outward erratically and swirling gracefully. The light spread, bathing everyone nearby in its comforting warmth as a circular patch of ground, centered upon the dire eidolon, lit up brightly.

Then, without warning, the shining light plummeted downward, sinking into the ground. Extinction howled painfully, but even his mighty roar could not disrupt the spectacle of the light erupting in a mighty column, flaring wildly into flickering, flame-shaped tendrils, enveloping the abomination in divine energy.

There was a flicker of movement from within the light, barely visible behind the shimmering veil.

"Look out!" Felicia cried, recognizing the danger. She threw herself against Micaiah, sending the older woman tumbling aside.

A sphere of crimson lightning erupted from the fading light of Micaiah's spell, striking and exploding the spot where the queen had been standing only seconds earlier. Extinction himself followed, as strong and fast as ever despite his prominent wounds. The wolf-like eidolon turned as he bound forward, facing a direction perpendicular to Felicia. As soon as he found his balance, he raised his forearm and threw his weight sideways in a forceful check.

As soon as the mighty eidolon touched down, Felicia recognized his intent, and dived into a roll towards his tail. She nimbly flipped her sword from her sheath as she did and immediately spun a wide arc as she found her footing. Vague Katti's slender, curved edge screeched loudly in protest as it scraped against the monster's exposed, ebon tail bones, and a few tufts of white fur were shorn away.

Silver streaks lined the air as Lionel backed away slowly, firing repeatedly at the eidolon's side. Some of his arrows gouged into the eidolon's bony form and remained, wedged into the menace awkwardly, but most simply bounced off harmlessly.

Several of the priests advanced, emboldened by the success their queen had found. Waves of light in all sorts of shapes and patterns soared into the fray, striking Extinction from nearly every exposed angle, as Micaiah invoked another devastating column of light.

Felicia saw the light begin to gather beneath Extinction, and hopped away in a graceful backflip, trying to hide her dismay when she saw that she had yet to leave a mark against her mighty foe. Extinction whirled around to chase after her, but at that precise moment, the queen's spell took shape, showering the eidolon with scorching light once more and eliciting another agonized howl.

Dark pools erupted all around the beast suddenly, and revenants began rising to rejoin the fray. The eidolon had seemingly exhausted his supply of stronger minions, for his newest conjurations took the shape of his victims that seemed less suited to combat – unarmored silhouettes equipped with farm implements, hunched shapes of the elderly and infirm, and small images of what appeared to be mere children.

"Keep fighting! He's almost finished!" Micaiah cried.

The Daein soldiers seemed to take heart in the unintimidating appearances of the newest revenants and rallied quickly, cutting down the revenants as quick as they climbed forth from their otherworldly gateways.

And then followed a bombardment of light magic from above. A shadow speeding across the ground was the only warning any of the revenants enjoyed, before Morgan soared by overhead, raining spells upon them. Cordelia followed closely, adding her own javelins to the deadly storm, as Soren, seated behind her, blasted the remaining revenants with a few well-placed gusts.

Morgan then turned her attention to the dire eidolon, and unleashed the remainder of the magic contained within her tome. Her next spell coincided perfectly with the queen's, creating a devastating explosion of light, rocking the eidolon back on his skeletal heels.

The young tactician then cast her expended tome aside and guided Catria into a smooth landing before dismounting and drawing Alondite.

"Are you sure that was a good idea?" Felicia muttered as she slipped over to Morgan's side.

"No," Morgan admitted. "But I'm out of light magic, and fire magic didn't seem to have any effect when I last tried it."

Perhaps Extinction overheard their quiet conversation, or perhaps he merely opted to face his closest targets. Either way, the mighty behemoth suddenly whirled to face the two swordswomen.

Morgan struck first, reflexively sending a wave of raw energy to slash against the beast's neck as she leapt to her right, away from Felicia. Similarly, Felicia darted to her left, closing in and jabbing her blade against the beast's bony forearm.

Extinction retaliated almost too quickly for the Begnion general to react, swiping its claw outward. Felicia only barely lifted her blade in time to slow the lightning-fast blow, and the force of the swing lifted her from the ground and hurled her away.

Morgan backed away when she saw Micaiah casting again, and struck repeatedly with Alondite from a safe distance. Acting on instinct alone, after her third swing, she turned and sprinted aside, just as Extinction burst forth from the blinding veil and crashed down behind her.

Seeing the opening, Morgan pivoted hard, bringing Alondite about in a full arc and throwing her weight behind the blow. Given her small stature, the valiant effort proved grossly insufficient, and her attack backfired terribly, bouncing harmlessly and nearly throwing her to the ground as she tried to maintain her grip on the ancient sword's hilt.

On the beast's other side, Felicia attempted a similar feat, spinning as she leapt high into the air and brought her blade downward in a heavy overhand swing. She fared only slightly better than Morgan, chipping the eidolon's back slightly before she tumbled aside. Extinction rounded on her viciously, forcing her to relinquish her weapon and scramble away frantically. A javelin soared in from above as Cordelia tried her best to help, but it was harmlessly caught between two of the beast's exposed ribs. Soren, who had found the opportunity to dismount, threw forth a brutal storm. Even that only pushed the beast back a single step.

"It's no use," Morgan muttered, thinking furiously as she scanned the battlefield in hopes of finding yet another possible solution.

The fighting around them had been quelled. None of the revenants remained, and the Daein soldiers surrounding them and the Begnion Pegasus knights soaring above them only looked on helplessly, unsure of how best to help. Morgan spotted the other magical ballista lying nearby, but it had been torn to pieces. A few ballista bolts were lying scattered across the ground, and briefly, Morgan considered salvaging one of the bolts and bringing it to the other, functional ballista.

A soft, melodic voice stopped her. Confused, Morgan looked about for the source of the song, but it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. She backed away, and after making sure the dire eidolon had forgotten about her, she closed her eyes.

The song remained just as quiet, but somehow, she could hear them even over the din of battle. The words themselves sounded like another language, or perhaps they were complete gibberish. But despite being unable to make any sense of them, Morgan felt a sudden urge to draw her sword.

Eternity came free of its sheath with a metallic ring, and sapphires flames erupted along the length of its shining blade, flickering silently and casting a soothing, soft blue glow around the young tactician. The violet-tinted ruby had been enveloped in the same shining cerulean embers.

Fluidly, and without hesitation, Morgan swung Eternity forward, the same way she had been using Alondite. The coat of azure fire flared and lashed forward, and Extinction let out his loudest howl yet as the excruciating flames cut into his back and took root, outlining his imposing frame. The beast could do little more than tremble in agony as the flames enveloped him.

Awed by the spectacle of the mighty dire eidolon crippled, a loud chorus of cheers filled the air as Morgan advanced fearlessly, lifting Alondite as well.

Sensing her approach, the beast tried to spin to face her, but the flames cut his motion short. His heavy tail spun by, and Morgan, remembering General Felicia's impromptu flight, presented Alondite in front of herself defensively.

The powerful blow sent Morgan flying through the air, but the clever tactician had hopped forward precisely as Extinction's tail collided against her blade. The blow propelled her upward instead, and carried her spinning over the beast to land directly before it.

As she descended, she brought Eternity cleaving downward upon the beast's neck. The divine flames did what steel could not, shearing through the eidolon's ebon bones. Morgan thrust Alondite forward, stabbing straight into the hollow eye socket of Extinction's massive skull, and with a graceful pirouette, she tore it off cleanly, even as she buried Eternity in the beast's rising claw.

"Now, everyone!" Morgan cried out, extracting her blade and diving clear.

Arrows, javelins, and magic of all sorts struck the decapitated beast from every direction, throwing up a terrific cloud of dirt and dust. A great explosion could be heard, and shards of ebon bone scattered in every direction.

When the dust settled, all that remained of the dire eidolon was a heaping pile of smoking ash.

* * *

Lying beyond the torn walls of Nevassa where he had been pinned to the ground by Cordelia's javelin, Sli'sk felt the dire eidolon's presence slipping away from Tellius. In a fit of renewed desperation, the wretched lich shook and writhed desperately. Several of his bones had only just finished regenerating, and shattered once more as the lich tore himself free.

His broken bones did not begin to mend themselves, as he was accustomed to. Instead, the cracks slowly spread further as Sli'sk collapsed to the ground and crawled weakly towards the city, raking the bloodstained soil with sharpened, skeletal digits. Instinctively, the demented creature tried to transform and fly, but the strain of the Laguz transformation was too much, and Sli'sk's horrid form began crumbling.

Had any part of the man he had once been remained, he might have felt a hint of relief from his tormented existence at last.

But the spirits had consumed his soul long ago, and instead, Sli'sk felt only horror and rage as his long-preserved bones collapsed into dust. Then the spirits were gone, returned to their own world with any bonds between them broken.


	18. Epilogue

**~ Epilogue ~**

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," Morgan apologized sheepishly.

"Don't be," Micaiah said graciously. "Blessed or not, it was still only a robe. Besides, I'm sure the damage can easily be repaired. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah," Morgan said. "The wound still stings a little, but I'll be fine. Are you sure you don't want your robe back?"

Micaiah shook her head gracefully. "I imagine you'll need it more than I will. I won't be setting foot beyond Daein's borders for some time, at least until everything is back in order. Do you know where you and your friends are headed?"

"We'll probably regroup in Begnion first," Morgan answered. She glanced at her mother as she spoke, who only shrugged. "After that… I don't know. It depends on what's happening in Crimea and Gallia, and back in Ylisse, I guess."

"Lionel told me that one of the dire eidolons escaped through the portal your father built," Micaiah said worriedly. "Has there been any news from your friends who returned home?"

"They were able to drive the eidolon away from the capital, at least," Cordelia answered. "When we departed from Begnion, they were on the verge of setting off in pursuit. Robin may have heard more from them since." She turned to Morgan. "Speaking of which, Morgan, did you tell your father about everything that happened here?"

"Not yet," Morgan said. "I gave my mirror to Severa before she and the others left for Gallia. I thought they would need it more. Once we get back to Begnion, we can tell Dad about everything in person."

"Is there anything we can do for you before you leave?" Micaiah offered. "Any supplies you and your friends may need, perhaps?"

"Thank you, but I think we already have everything we need," Morgan declined politely. "Oh, before I forget, I have something of yours I meant to return," she added. She rummaged through her traveling pack, emerging with the Unity Staff in hand. "It didn't really work out for us," she said softly, staring at the staff uncomfortably and thinking of Priam.

Cordelia eyed the staff curiously. "I thought that was just an ordinary healing staff," she remarked. "Isn't that the one Soren used to heal you earlier?"

"No, this staff is…" Morgan began, but her voice trailed off, and she instinctively glanced downward at the small hole that Lister's bolt had left in her robe. She remembered being surprised that the wound didn't prove fatal, but hadn't questioned it further at the time. "He used _this_ staff?" she asked in a hushed tone.

"Maybe I'm mistaken," Cordelia admitted. "I was quite distracted at the time."

Morgan stared at the staff for a few seconds longer before looking away and shaking her head. "Yeah. It couldn't have been this one," she said. "Soren tried to use it once already, when we were battling the Redeemers in the mountains."

She stepped up to the throne and presented the staff to the queen.

"Are you sure you won't need it?" Micaiah asked.

"I'm sure," Morgan said. "Thanks for letting us borrow it, anyways."

The door to the throne room swung open, admitting Prince Lionel. "Morgan, are you leaving soon?" he asked.

"Yeah. Soren's waiting for us just outside the castle, and I think General Felicia is returning to Begnion with us, too," Morgan said.

"Take care of yourselves, alright?" Lionel said. "We're going to be pretty busy around here, but I'll try to pay you a visit when I can."

"Okay. See you soon," Morgan replied.

* * *

"Are you finished?" Chrom demanded. As he spoke, the blue-haired exalt leaned closer towards his prone foe, pressing Falchion's golden blade against the dragon-like monstrosity's neck.

The cursed creature tilted its skeletal neck slightly, matching Chrom's angry stare with a vicious, burning, golden glare.

Then the skeletal dragon began to laugh, a rumbling, rasping laughter that sent shivers down the spines of everyone close enough to hear.

"Enough!" Chrom roared, the unearthly sound grating on his nerves. With a forceful shove, Falchion sliced downwards, severing the dragon's neck. There was a small flash of golden flames as the legendary weapon cut through, and the dragon's skull fell to the soft dirt ground with an unnaturally loud clatter.

Wild cheers rang out all around the victorious exalt, Cynthia's and Vaike's loudest among them. Only Frederick, standing by Chrom's side, maintained his composure. "Well done, milord," he congratulated, watching as the dragon's skeletal frame slowly burned away.

"Thanks, though I hardly feel like I did anything," Chrom admitted, shaking his head. "Only Naga knows how long we would have had to chase the fiend if Cynthia and her Pegasus knights hadn't been able to race ahead and cut him off. We probably would've had to chase the damn dragon all the way to the Plegian Coast, at least."

"What's wrong with that?" Vaike interrupted cheerfully. "Chase the bony sucker so far that he's got nowhere left to run. And if he tries to swim away… let him try! Ol' teach will outswim a bag of bones like him any day!"

"Uh… Vaike, the dragon could _fly_ , remember?" Stahl reminded gently.

"Not after we were finished with him, hah!" Vaike laughed. Then his expression grew serious, or at least, as serious as the blond warrior ever looked. "I still say it was too easy though, Chrom. Why'd the dragon have to go and shrink like that?"

"This again?" Frederick groaned in frustration. "The dragon didn't shrink, Vaike!"

"It did too!" Vaike insisted stubbornly.

"Alright, enough!" Chrom interrupted, having heard the same argument far too many times already. "Tell you what, Vaike. I was just about to reach out to Robin and tell him that this eidolon thing is done for. You can tell Robin about the dragon 'shrinking' then."

* * *

Just as Kurth laid down and closed his eyes, he heard a sharp rap against his door.

"King Goldoa?"

"Come on in, Lucina," Kurth said, recognizing the voice and sitting up.

The door swung open, and Lucina and Severa stepped in. Surprisingly, both of the young women were wearing hesitant, timid looks, and Severa glanced back and forth uneasily, as if afraid to be overheard.

"What is it?" Kurth asked worriedly.

"I'm not sure," Severa admitted. "But something's… wrong."

Kurth arched an eyebrow curiously at her and waited for her to continue.

Severa grimaced. "I know. I sound silly and paranoid. But I just feel like we're overlooking something. It doesn't make any sense. With Extinction attacking Daein, Phoenicis in shambles, and your own people busy helping Phoenicis, the Redeemers have the perfect opportunity to make their next move nearly uncontested."

"Severa's right," Lucina said. "They could try to attack Begnion while their army is marching north towards Daein, or even make a move against Goldoa while many of your people are away."

"The Redeemers have yet to make an overt move of their own against anyone," Kurth reminded.

"And they don't have to," Severa insisted. "We saw how powerful their phantoms were, and Harmony claims they have a small army of those metal monsters. If they were just trying to create chaos, why not drop a dozen of them in the middle of Sienne? Or here in Melior? Why stop after ambushing a Crimean patrol and razing a few Gallian villages? Are they really staking all their hopes on Crimea and Gallia not seeing through their deception?"

Kurth frowned. "If they need chaos on a greater scale, a minor skirmish probably wouldn't be enough," he thought aloud. "They have been extremely careful with their resources thus far."

"But if they need this war so badly, why aren't they doing more? This is pretty much their last chance, isn't it?" Severa challenged. Her face fell. "That's why I went to Lucy. Something about Melior just feels… wrong. I don't know why, but I can't shake the feeling that something terrible is about to happen right under our noses."

"The city and castle have both been awash with guards, though," Kurth pointed out reasonably. "I counted at least six patrols while we were traveling through the city streets, and we crossed paths with eight more here in the castle. If something is about to happen, Crimea is as just about as prepared as we can hope."

"That's true," Severa conceded with a sigh.

But Lucina's face had gone deathly pale. "Why?" she whispered.

"Why what?" Severa asked, confused and taken aback by Lucina's horrified expression.

"King Geoffrey said that he wasn't afraid of any immediate reprisal from Gallia, and that the soldiers were active to reassure the populace," Lucina remembered. "Even if Gallia were to attack, the capital is too far for them to strike at it directly. So why were there so many soldiers milling around the castle, even before we warned the king about the Redeemers?"

"Perhaps the king's advisors were afraid that whoever ambushed the Crimean patrol would strike here, in Melior," Kurth suggested, sounding unconcerned.

"There's far too many soldiers for it to be just that," Lucina said, shaking her head. "Even when Ylisse was at war with Plegia, Father didn't have even half as many soldiers patrolling Castle Ylisse. He had trusted bodyguards watching over him all day long, but having too many military patrols underfoot makes it impossibly hard to keep track of who is entering and leaving the castle."

Severa's eyes widened in horror. "It's the perfect cover for any assassins," Severa realized aloud. She subconsciously reached for her lance. "When we snuck into the Redeemers' fortress with Nasir, we were pretending to be merchants, remember? The best way to sneak into any place unnoticed is to look like you belong. No one would question the added security around the castle at a time like this."

Lucina nodded and reached for her belt, retrieving a small pouch of coins. She poured out its contents unceremoniously and hastily filled it from her sack of warp powder before shoving it into Kurth's hands. "King Goldoa, could you please find Nasir, Celera, and King Phoenicis, and split this powder with them, just in case?" She then turned to Severa. "Sev, you go find Owain, and make sure he's carrying some warp powder, too. I'll look for Harmony and Symphony."

"Wait!" Kurth protested. "This is all just guesswork, isn't it? What if you're wrong?"

"Then we will all lose a few hours of sleep over nothing," Severa said. "But we were too complacent anyways, thinking that Melior would be safe. We should all have been carrying warp powder to begin with."

"A few hours?" Kurth echoed.

"We'll need to keep an eye out for any trouble tonight," Lucina said. "If the Redeemers really did sneak their soldiers in here as guards, they can't hope to remain unnoticed forever. They'll have to act soon if they mean to act at all. We can check in with King Geoffrey tomorrow before we leave if nothing happens tonight."

A deafening, crashing noise echoed through the open windows from the direction of the castle gate, and the castle shuddered violently.

"Too late," Lucina moaned in dismay as she found her footing once more. "Sev…"

"I know. I'll go find Owain, and we'll go check on King Geoffrey. You and the others go see what's going on at the gate," Severa said quickly, hopping to her feet and drawing her lance.

"If you run into any trouble," Lucina began.

"I'll warp right back to Phoenicis Hall," Severa promised. "And I'll make sure Owain does, too." With that, she raced off into the dimly lit hallways, praying that they had recognized the danger in time.

* * *

"Let's see… this will do nicely, won't it?"

Pinned to the ground by the twin swords held by his metallic captor, King Geoffrey could only watch, horrorstruck, as a second phantom carrying a large parcel wrapped in dark cloth approached the tall blonde. Her crimson sword-shaped brand glistened in the flickering, magical lights she had conjured.

The woman met his stare and grinned cruelly as she tugged at the shroud, unraveling it roughly and sending the body within tumbling to the ground with an ominous thump. "Put her on the throne," she ordered.

The phantom obediently scooped up the corpse, allowing King Geoffrey a short glimpse of his daughter's deathly, empty stare. Before the doomed monarch could react, his captor sensed him tensing up, and slid its gauntlet upward, slitting his throat.

"Tsk, tsk," Medea chided. "I bade you not to move, Your Majesty. Look at the terrible mess you made," she said with a mock sigh. Beside her, the second phantom seated the princess's corpse upon the king's vacated throne.

As he laid dying upon the ground, King Geoffrey could only gasp and sputter for air as he laid his eyes upon his daughter's fatal wounds.

"That's right. Killed by one of the filthy sub-humans. A message from Queen Gallia for your successor, whoever that might be," Medea explained cheerfully. "Of course, it's not _really_ from her. It turns out the pitiful beasts aren't nearly as civilized as they pretend to be. My men captured one of the smelly fools alive. When I went to him and told him that I was there to rescue him, and showed him your darling princess, telling him that she was the Crimean noble who had ordered the raids, he nearly tore her apart, just like that. It was stunningly gruesome! Beastly, but terribly efficient. Don't you agree, Your Majesty?"

The doors to the throne room slammed open. Severa and Owain rushed through, lance and sword drawn, though the latter nearly tripped over the bloody remains of the king's two bodyguards.

"Medea!" Severa cried angrily. Without a second thought, she hefted a javelin and hurled it across the throne room with deadly precision. The phantom standing near the throne was too quick though, leaping protectively in front of its master and slicing the javelin out of the air with ease.

"Good throw," Medea congratulated. She smiled in recognition. "Hmm… I remember you. You're the feisty little rose who broke into our fortress along with that scheming, lying Laguz merchant. We fought back in the valley, too, didn't we? Where are the rest of your friends? Or did you decide that this bumbling, incompetent fool would be enough?" she asked derisively, gesturing towards Owain.

"Silence, wicked villainess!" Owain proclaimed, regaining his footing and preparing to charge.

"Really, where did you find this clown?" Medea laughed mockingly.

Medea's playful demeanor faded a moment later, as an outraged Severa barreled across the room, cutting down one of the phantoms with remarkable ease as it moved to intercept her.

The second phantom attacked, forcing Severa back. "You're next!" Severa threatened as her lance wove between the phantom's twin swords, driving them both back repeatedly. Owain hastened to help, and with one of them pressing in from each side, the phantom was losing ground quickly.

"Oh? You want to play, do you?" Medea sneered. "So sorry, but my work here is done. I don't see any reason to stick around." She gestured towards the dead king. "Alas, with the death of King Geoffrey VII and his beloved daughter, the bloodline of Queen Elincia and her knight husband, heroes of the War of the Goddess, has come to an end," she proclaimed dramatically. Her eyes narrowed gleefully at Owain. "How was that, my rambling, aspiring playwright? Though I suppose it might have been a bit of an exaggeration. I'm sure his countless cousins will claim their own royal heritage and squabble senselessly for his crown over his cooling corpse…"

"You will pay for this!" Owain promised. He extracted himself from his duel against the phantom, and advanced towards Medea. The sorceress drew her tome in one hand and her warp powder in the other.

But as soon as the phantom turns its attention fully upon Severa, Owain spun back, striking at the phantom and impaling it. Severa backed away at the same instant, and spun Passion in a full arc. The phantom's helmet and mask hit the ground, and the rest of the damaged suit of armor followed suit a second later.

Medea flung her warp powder to the ground, not wanting any part of the dangerous duo. "Farewell!" she called in a distant voice, even as the throne room's doors flew open and a dozen Crimean soldiers stormed in.

Ignoring the shocked and horrified guards, Severa approached the dead woman on the throne. A fragment of white material had been pinned to the dead princess's leg by a dagger, contrasting against the bloody golden silk cloth of the dead princess's robe. Both intrigued and repulsed, Severa cautiously leaned closer for a better look.

"Your deadly incursion has been repaid. Be warned, humans; should you choose to bring war upon my people once more, your pain shall be tenfold. Queen Carina of Gallia," Severa read aloud. Her heart sank as she reached the end of the letter, and the Redeemers' purpose became clear.

One of the soldiers brusquely pushed her aside. Severa scowled, but remained uncharacteristically silent, choosing to leave the room instead, with a thoroughly confused Owain following close behind.

* * *

Lucina burst into the courtyard, shortly followed by Symphony and Harmony. The earthquake's source was immediately apparent; a familiar wizened, bearded man clad in an elegant crimson robe stood upon the wall, shielded by a circle of fire. Several Crimean soldiers cowered just beyond the flaming barrier, oblivious to the fighting below.

Hundreds of soldiers dressed in either the traditional, decorated armor of Crimean knights, or the less elaborate armors of the castle guards, fought amongst themselves as the disguised Redeemer soldiers turned against their unsuspecting comrades. Nearly two dozen phantoms, crafted from ebon plates that gleamed, even in the darkness, were scattered around the courtyard, swords drawn and magical spheres of golden flames glowing in the palms of their off-hand gauntlets.

And standing in the middle of the chaos was Charon himself, armored from head-to-toe as always. Though his armor seemed matted, and seemed less distinguished when compared with that of the phantoms, the shining, icy-blue streaks across his armor marked him clearly and accentuated his powerful stature.

"We have to take care of Relic first," Harmony warned. She drew her scimitar and set off towards the ladder leading up to the wall, but Lucina stopped her quickly.

"Wait," Lucina protested. "Look, Relic is still carrying the scepter!"

Harmony glanced up, and at once, her keen eyes picked out the jeweled scepter tied to Relic's sash.

"Leave Relic to me," Symphony offered. "I'm no longer a spirit charmer; the scepter won't help him this time." With a simple, twisting motion, he separated his scythe into two sickles, charging towards the wall without waiting for his sister's approval.

"Be careful!" Harmony called after him. Her warning was cut short as a golden fireball sailed through the air over her, forcing her to dive to the ground. One of the darksteel phantoms stalked in, leering at the two women through its ghastly, skull-like mask.

Lucina sprang forward, slashing Falchion overhead. The phantom took a step back and flung a fireball at her, too, which she easily sidestepped. Hoping to catch her adversary before it could retreat again, Lucina took a long step forward, lifting her blade into an upward stab.

The phantom proved too quick, immediately deflecting Lucina's thrust and countering with a sideways slash, forcing Lucina to back off.

Seeing the opening, Harmony rushed past the phantom and thrust her blade into its side as she passed. The blade's tip sank into one of the seams between the darksteel plates, and though her blade could not penetrate the plates themselves, her momentum was enough to drag the phantom backward, slamming it to the ground. The phantom flailed wildly, but didn't even come close to striking Harmony as she hopped away.

By the time the prone construct noticed Lucina's approach, it was too late. The princess plunged Falchion downward forcefully through the phantom's chest, then crushed the phantom's helm with the broad side of her sword for good measure. "I'll never figure out how Father can smash through stone bricks as if they were made of glass," she lamented, inspecting the fallen phantom.

"It's not trying to kill us anymore. That's good enough for me," Harmony said, as she turned her attention to Charon.

A handful of Crimean soldiers had finally mustered the courage to challenge the Redeemers' leader, and spread out, surrounding the imposing warrior.

"Out of my way!" Charon roared, striking first and swinging his massive great sword with impossible speed, bearing down upon the nearest of the Crimean knights. The heavy blade crushed through even the knight's remarkably thick plate armor with ease, lodging itself in his chest. Charon's next swing wrenched his armored foe from the ground, and with a vicious spin, the mighty spirit charmer flung the corpse of his first victim to crash into the next.

Most of the remaining knights backed away, awed and horrified by their powerful foe. One soldier didn't quite comprehend the strength of their foe, and tried to strike again, thrusting his lance at Charon's back.

Charon whirled around, and his great sword slapped against the lance, sundering it with a loud clatter. The soldier let out a slight squeak of protest as he stepped away, but he was too slow.

"A mere twist of a knife," Charon rumbled, before turning to face Lucina and Harmony. Behind him, the dying soldier slumped to the ground with a loud thud.

"Storming a castle openly in the middle of the night? Have you truly grown so desperate, Charon?" Harmony asked, sounding braver than she felt.

"The road of redemption is ever long," Charon declared. "Athwart my path, less I slather it with your blood!"

Neither Lucina nor Harmony were cowed, and their only answer came in the form of their brandished blades.

* * *

"Fools challenge the insurmountable," Relic chuckled quietly, as he watched the two women approaching Charon in the center of the courtyard below. Contrary to Harmony's earlier fears, Relic had no intention of interfering; Charon was more than capable of dispatching the two.

"Relic!"

The spirit charmer turned at the sound of his name, and found Symphony standing by the top of the ladder, sickles drawn. "Must history repeat itself?" Relic sighed.

"Not likely," Symphony retorted. "Your little trick with the scepter won't work again."

One of Relic's metallic rings drifted down, interposing itself between them. Symphony instinctively rolled aside as a slight flare shot forth from the old mage's fingertips and the ring lit up, but the ring only flipped through the air lazily, hovering over Relic for a fraction of a second before dropping to the ground at this feet and igniting. "Approach, if you dare!" Relic challenged, stepping out of the ring. The flaming circle followed, and the metallic ring drifted up behind him, unharmed.

Symphony charged, undaunted by the magical flames. He lashed out with one sickle, but pulled back immediately, even before his blade connected against the stone shield that appeared in front of Relic. Trusting in his cloak to protect him, Symphony weaved around the stone barrier and struck again, this time with both sickles.

Unable to bring his first ring about in time, Relic shifted another ring into place instead, and a gust of wind rushed forth to push Symphony aside. Reflexively, the young warrior adjusted his aim upward, and one of his two sickles caught upon the inside of the ring. The powerful gale swept him from his feet, but he clung to the ring stubbornly, and dexterously flipped himself over it, slashing downward at Relic as he soared overhead.

With no magical recourse, Relic ducked, barely maintaining his balance as he spun away from his attacker. Unwilling to relinquish the advantage he had found, Symphony pressed forward as soon as he landed. Inspiration seized him then, and instead of trying to strike at Relic and force his way through the spirit charmer's protective robe, Symphony instead reached out for the Dominion Scepter with his sickle, deftly loosening it and flipping it into the air.

Caught off-guard, Relic instinctively reached for the scepter, but Symphony proved faster. If it wasn't for Relic's protective garments, Symphony's sickle would have sliced through the old man's wrist entirely. As Relic staggered away with a painful grunt, Symphony reassembled his sickle into a scythe and scooped up the scepter. Then, remembering that the scepter had been crafted by spirit charmers, and suspecting that its powers could only be used by someone similarly in tune with the spirits, Symphony turned and hurled the scepter through the air. "Harmony!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

* * *

"Harmony!"

Upon hearing her brother calling for her, Harmony immediately backed away and spun to face the wall, just in time to see the sparkling, jeweled scepter flying straight towards her.

"No!" Charon growled, recognizing the danger. He forced Lucina away with a powerful sweep and charged desperately, hoping to reach Harmony first.

But he was too late, and the scepter fell neatly into Harmony's waiting grasp. "Time's up," Harmony announced, turning and leveling the scepter at her former master. She concentrated upon the scepter, and could immediately sense the magical energy coursing along the scepter's shaft. Remembering how Relic had used it against Symphony, she called upon the scepter's enchantment, willing it to banish the spirits bound to Charon for only a few seconds, just long enough to free them for good and incapacitate the mighty warrior. The scepter became translucent, and Harmony's fingers slipped right through it as its image continued to hover in midair.

But instead of simply crumbling to the ground, unconscious, Charon, too, became translucent, armor and all.

"Harmony, what did you do?" Lucina stammered.

Harmony gaped at Charon's remaining silhouette in confusion. "I… I don't know," she admitted.

* * *

Symphony punched the air triumphantly as he watched his sister's hand close around the scepter's shaft, but spun around a split second later, as the soft sound of thick fabric brushing against the stone wall alerted him to the danger.

Another vicious gale ripped forth, and this time, Symphony had nothing to latch his scythe onto. He only barely had time to grab onto the wall's rail, clinging on to avoid being thrown over the wall entirely. He weighed his options quickly, understanding his predicament and realizing he didn't have much time before Relic struck again.

The spell died away just as Symphony was about to let go, having braced himself for a long and painful fall. He slammed painfully into the side of the wall, draped over the parapets, but he was quick to pull himself over before his adversary could strike at him again.

Only to find that the old spirit charmer was no longer paying him any attention. Instead, Relic's mystified gaze was transfixed upon Charon's silhouette in the center of the courtyard.

* * *

The Dominion Scepter's enchantment broke abruptly, and the scepter and the banished Redeemer became solid simultaneously. Evidently prepared, Charon was moving even as the scepter began to fall. His armored gauntlet punched forward, seizing the scepter roughly and directing it at Harmony.

"Harmony, no!" Lucina cried, diving forward and shielding her friend from the scepter's magic.

Instead, Charon simply slammed the scepter against Lucina's shoulder, wielding it as if it were a simple mace. Lucina let out a soft moan of pain as she staggered back and fell to a kneeling position, only barely retaining her grip on Falchion's hilt.

But to Charon's surprise, Lucina wasn't quite finished. Brushing away the pain, the stubborn princess leapt back to her feet without a second thought, thrusting Falchion straight ahead with her one good arm. Falchion bit through one of the icy-blue streaks upon Charon's armor, and Lucina felt the blade sliding through her foe, until it hit the hard metal of one of the back plates of Charon's armor.

Lucina pulled her sword free, and her surprise only grew when she saw Falchion's blade pristine and free of blood. Likewise, no blood poured from the wound.

And Charon began to laugh, an otherworldly sound that sent shivers down her spine.

Even as his warp powder took effect, the echoes of his laughter hung ominously over the courtyard as the Redeemer soldiers amidst the Crimean soldiers followed suit and retreated.

* * *

"What is going on here!?" Symphony demanded, brandishing his scythe at Relic.

Relic met his angry stare impassively. "Righteous curtains are withdrawn," the old spirit charmer pronounced gravely.

A darksteel ring dropped over him, and before Symphony or any of the other nearby soldiers could react, a tidal wave burst forth, flooding the wall and casting them aside.

And then Relic, too, was gone, carried to safety by his warp powder.

Dazed and soaking wet, Symphony staggered to his feet just in time to see Severa and Owain emerge from the castle.

* * *

"Hey, Sev," Lucina said glumly, inspecting her own wounded shoulder.

Severa wordlessly drew a small flask full of healing elixir from her belt and handed it over.

"Thanks," Lucina said, accepting the small flask gratefully and gulping the bitter liquid down. The burning pain in her shoulder softened almost immediately after. "Did you find King Geoffrey?"

"King Geoffrey is dead," Owain said in a small voice.

"Medea and her phantoms got to him before we did," Severa said curtly. "We were too late. We destroyed her phantoms, but she escaped. She left a body on the throne. Princess Crimea, it seems."

"It looks like she was torn apart by a wild animal," Owain added uneasily, remembering the dead woman's vacant stare, and the vicious wounds.

"One of the beast Laguz," Severa corrected. "Medea left a forged note from Gallia's queen, too. The Redeemers want Crimea to believe that Gallia killed their princess, and hired assassins to kill their king," Severa guessed unhappily.

"They provoked Gallia to put Crimea on edge," Harmony muttered. "Since the Crimean people were already worried about their Laguz neighbors, it will be hard to convince them that Gallia _wasn't_ behind the assassination."

"Any sign of King Kurth or the others?" Lucina asked.

Severa and Owain both shook their heads.

Just then, Symphony rejoined them. "Lucina, Harmony, what happened back there?" he asked, his teeth chattering from the cold seeping through his damp clothing.

"I must have used the scepter wrong," Harmony admitted. "It didn't work at all like I was expecting, and Charon caught me off-guard when he recovered. I'm sorry."

"Charon?" Severa asked, surprised.

"He and Relic were both here," Lucina explained. "Symphony got the scepter away from Relic somehow, and Harmony tried to use it against Charon. Charon took the scepter back, then fled, along with his soldiers."

"And Relic," Symphony added grimly.

"Great. We got here just in time to see another war begin," Severa sighed.

"So much for helping," Lucina agreed gloomily. "I hope Morgan's faring better than we are."

"Yeah," Severa agreed. She reached into her traveling bag, searching for her mirror. "I guess I should tell Dad what happened. Maybe he'll have some idea of what to do next."

To her surprise, the mirror was already active when she pulled it from her bag.

"Hello, Severa," Robin greeted. Upon seeing her expression, he immediately looked suspicious. "Is something wrong?" he asked worriedly.

"Just about everything," Severa replied, with a weak smile. "King Crimea and his daughter are dead. The Redeemers are trying to make it look like Gallia is responsible. Worse still, I think it'll probably work."

Robin grimaced, but upon seeing his daughter's state of distress, he did his best to hide his dismay. "So that's their plan," he said thoughtfully. "What about you and the others? Is everyone alright?"

"I think so. Lucy took a pretty nasty hit but she seems to be okay. I haven't seen the Laguz since right before the battle, though," Severa said. "Dad, were you looking for me? Did you hear back from Morgan already?"

"No, nothing like that," Robin said nervously. "Your mother and Morgan haven't returned to Begnion yet. I did hear from Chrom, though."

"From my father?" Lucina asked, perking up. "Did they defeat Calamity, then?"

"Do either you remember how big Calamity was?" Robin asked, ignoring her question.

"Umm… very?" Severa replied unhelpfully.

"At least fifty feet tall when he was flying, I think," Lucina guessed.

Robin sighed.

"Why?" Severa asked, alarmed by her father's unenthusiastic reaction.

"They chased down the dragon and destroyed it," Robin said. "Only, Vaike kept on rambling about how the dragon was smaller now than it had been when it first emerged through the portal, and driving everyone crazy."

"That sounds like Vaike being, well, Vaike," Lucina observed.

"That's what Frederick thought, too. But according to both Chrom and Frederick, the dragon they slew was only half the size of Calamity," Robin explained grimly. "Either Calamity shrank for seemingly no reason at all, or the dragon they chased all the way to Plegia was just…"

"Another magical projection of some sort, like Agent," Severa groaned, shutting her eyes.

"But that means Calamity is still out there somewhere, and we have no idea where he is," Lucina gasped, thunderstruck.

"I'm afraid so," Robin said. "Don't worry about Calamity for now. Stay safe, and see if you can find King Goldoa and King Phoenicis. I don't know what they intend to do, but I think it's best if we take a step back for now, at least until we have a better understanding of the situation in Crimea and Gallia."

"Alright. We'll try to meet up with them before we return to Begnion, then," Severa promised.

"See you soon," Robin said, before the mirror went dormant.

* * *

The Feroxi soldiers shrank back as their leader, a tall, tightly muscled bald man with dark skin, strode onto the ramparts, clad in his fabulous, fur-trimmed golden armor.

"What the hell is that thing!?" West-Khan Basilio bellowed furiously, and the disciplined, courageous soldiers who would not cower even in the face of a massive, ebon skeletal dragon shrank back even further.

"It looks like a dragon, sir," one of the soldiers whimpered weakly, pointing at the dark shape overhead.

"I can see that for myself," Basilio roared, and he leaned over the wall for a better look at it, watching as it descended upon a helpless village. Skilled as they were, the grounded army of Ferox could do little to their airborne foe.

"What are we going to do, sir?" another of the soldiers stammered nervously.

Basilio flashed the soldier a toothy grin. "Hell, we're going to wait for that thing to land, then bash its skull in!" he said, hefting his axe.

"What if it never lands?" a third soldier asked skeptically.

"Oh, it'll land. Won't have much of a choice with its wings torn off," Basilio reassured him. As he spoke, a second, smaller dragon with iridescent green scales emerged from the streets, taking to the skies in pursuit of the monstrous creature.

Basilio's jaw dropped a moment later, though, when a _third_ dragon, the same size as the second but with shimmering crimson scales, followed suit and joined the aerial duel.

* * *

Seated on her plain, utilitarian throne, Queen Carina shut her eyes, trying to drown out the incessant buzz of a debate going nowhere that had been plaguing her for weeks.

Her advisors only droned on, seemingly oblivious to her annoyance as they continued to rehash the same senseless arguments again and again. Or perhaps they _had_ noticed her frustration, Carina thought. Their voices seemed to grow louder and more irate whenever she withdrew from their discussions.

"We cannot afford to act rashly!"

"We cannot afford _not to act_!"

"We are at peace! Our people are not prepared for a war, especially not with Crimea, our friend and ally since before any of us were born!"

"Our 'ally' sent soldiers across the border unannounced to pillage and burn the homes of our people!"

"War is upon us, regardless of whether our people are prepared for it!"

"We do not know that! We do not even know for fact that the Crimean soldiers were involved!"

"Were the dead Beorc soldiers bearing the Crimean royal crest upon their armor not proof enough for you?"

"The armor could have been imitations, or perhaps stolen. There have been no further acts of aggression so far, and we have yet to…"

"It doesn't matter! Proof or no proof, we remain unprepared _if_ a crisis has befallen us. We must assume the worst and prepare accordingly, else…"

"May I remind you that mobilizing our people for the first time in centuries could very well cause the war we were hoping to avoid?"

"May _I_ remind _you_ that we no longer have time for childish hopes?"

"Enough!" Carina cried in exasperation. Her advisors fell silent expectantly, though more than one eyed her with skepticism. "We've discussed this all before," she reminded them sharply, ignoring their judgmental stares. "Our position has not changed, unless you feel that the urgency of the situation warrants revisiting my previous proposition."

"Absolutely not," one of her older advisors said, scowling. "We cannot trust Crimea right now; you cannot take the risk of traveling personally to Melior at this time." Several of the others nodded in silent agreement.

"Fine. In that case, I stand by my original decision. We will wait for Crimea to return our message, and until then, muster only a token force so as to not disrupt the peace in our kingdom any further. _If_ I am wrong regarding King Geoffrey's good intentions, we will not be left entirely defenseless," Carina said.

"But…" another of her advisors began.

"I will not risk starting a war, General!" Carina interrupted fiercely. "My first obligation to our people is to protect the peace that they have enjoyed for centuries upon centuries, a peace shared with our neighbors. A peace that I will not cast aside so easily. If Crimea truly hungers for war, and strikes at us again, unprovoked, I believe our people are strong enough to endure. Don't you?"

Backed into a corner, the general had no choice but to agree. "Yes, Your Majesty," he said humbly, dipping his head.

Carina nodded, satisfied. Even in times of peace, no Laguz leader of any sort would ever willingly admit doubting the strength of his kind. "Then there is no need to discuss this any further. General, have any more of our messengers returned?"

"Most have, Your Majesty," he reported. "As per your instructions, my men tried to limit the amount of volunteers returning to the capital with them, but our people proved hard to dissuade. Nearly seven hundred have arrived, a full two hundred in excess of your requested number, and we have yet to hear from Tiara in the south."

"The messengers from Tiara still have yet to return?" Carina asked, surprised.

"It is a good sign," another of her advisors cut in. "Tiara is one of the largest cities within Gallia. Our messengers may have found so many willing soldiers that it has hampered their return."

"No additional soldiers will be forthcoming from Tiara."

Carina and all her advisors turned to see a battered young man entering the room. The general seemed to recognize the man at once. "You're one of Captain Chester's men, aren't you?"

The soldier nodded stiffly, wincing in pain. "Tiara has been destroyed. Captain Chester and the rest of our party were killed. As far as I know, I was the only one who managed to escape the city."

"Will Crimea's treachery never end?" the most belligerent of Carina's advisors growled.

Carina, knowing that there was no way Crimea's soldiers could have traveled so deeply into Gallian territory undetected, was about to scoff openly at the ridiculous suggestion. But the soldier answered first.

"Tiara wasn't attacked by Beorc, sir," he said. "Not long after we arrived a giant sea creature appeared just off the coast. We didn't know what it was; none of us had seen, or even heard of, anything quite like it before. It looked to be more bone than flesh."

"You mean it was already dead?" the general asked.

The soldier shook his head quickly. "It wasn't dead. It looked like a skeleton, but it was definitely alive and moving. It beached itself atop our shores and crushed most of the city then and there. We tried to help everyone to safety, but a terrible storm came out of nowhere right after. Something hit me and knocked me out, and when I awoke, the city was in ruins and there was no sign of the creature. I spent a few hours searching for survivors before giving up and returning here alone."

There was a long, silent pause as the gathering digested the incredulous story.

"We are left with no choice," the general finally insisted, his eyes glowing with primal intensity. "We must protect our people. We must rally them behind us before we are attacked again."

To the queen's dismay, one of her staunchest supporters then voiced his agreement. "If Crimea is behind this, then they have found a great power far beyond our understanding," he said solemnly.

"And if they aren't, we now have two enemies to contend one instead of just one," another advisor agreed.

One by one, each of her remaining advisors spoke up in support of the general. As all eyes turned to her, Carina slumped back in her throne, feeling thoroughly defeated. "We cannot wait any longer," she conceded reluctantly. "I still do not believe that Crimea is our enemy, but even if they are not, we know nothing about this mysterious enemy that has encroached upon our shores. We must prepare for the worst."

"Then may I have your permission to send out a call-to-arms?" the general asked, baring his teeth in a feral grin.

"Send word to every corner of the kingdom," Carina instructed, standing and stepping away from her throne. "Let me know when the last messenger has left the capital, and keep me updated as they return."

With that, she strolled out of the throne room, needing to be away from her advisors. She stepped out into the courtyard and took a deep breath, savoring the fresh air. She felt a slight tingle rushing through her.

A moment later, she finished her transformation. Her short golden locks had disappeared, to be replaced by a lustrous pelt of the same color, stretching along her graceful, feline form. She set off at a brisk pace across the flat, empty meadows, circling her castle and doing her best to put her thoughts in order.

The sun was already beginning to set when she finally ground to a halt, hours later. Staring idly at the few small and fluffy clouds drifting overhead, she laid back, enjoying the tickling sensation of the tall grass brushing against her.

"This is stupid," she said serenely, closing her eyes. "You have no more reason to seek a war than I do, do you, King Geoffrey? The messenger I sent to Melior is probably on his way back already, to tell us what I already know. Of course Crimea wasn't responsible for sacking those poor villages."

She sat up and stretched, letting out a long sigh. "I hope your people are more sensible than mine. I'm certain King Goldoa was telling us the truth when he visited, but by the time those idiots in the castle were done questioning him, none of them even remembered the purpose of King Goldoa's visit. It's like all the stories I've heard about Begnion's senate, only worse, somehow. I bet if it was Crimea that suddenly began assembling a large army, Gallia would already be marching to the border, fangs bared."

Her gaze swept the deceptively calm, open meadows surrounding Castle Gallia. "Everything will be alright," she assured herself. "Once we get a chance to actually talk, and put the more level heads among us together, we'll work things out."

Bolstered by that comforting thought confidence, Queen Carina strolled back to the castle, blissfully unaware of King Crimea and his daughter's grisly fates.


End file.
